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Thus  Helen  the  Proud,  the  Beautiful,  yielded 
her  lips  to  his 

FRONTISPIECE.    See  Page  31 


BELTANE 
THE  SMITH 

A  Romance  of  the  Greenwood 

By  JEFFERY  FARNOL 

Author  of 

"The  Money  Moon,"  "The  Broad  Highway," 
"The  Amateur  Gentleman,"  Etc. 


With  Frontispiece 
By  ARTHUR  E.  BECHER 


A.   L.   BURT   COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  Arrangement  with  Little,  Brown  &  Company 


Copyright,  1915, 
Bt  LlTTiiE,  Brown,  and  Compant. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Published,  November,  1916 
Reprinted,  December,  1916 


TO 

FREDERICK  HUGHSON  HAWLEY 

TO  WHOM  BELTANE  IS  NO  STRANGER 
I  DEDICATE  THIS  ROMANCE 

Jeffery  Famol 
X/mdon,  Aoffust,  1915b 


BELTANE  THE  SMITH 

CHAPTER  I 

HOW    BELTANE    LIVED    WITHIN    THE    GREENWOOD 

In  a  glade  of  the  forest,  yet  not  so  far  but  that  one  might 
hear  the  chime  of  bells  stealing  across  the  valley  from  the 
great  minster  of  Mortain  on  a  still  evening,  dwelt  Beltane 
the  Smith. 

Alone  he  lived  in  the  shadow  of  the  great  trees,  happy 
when  the  piping  of  the  birds  was  in  his  ears,  and  joying 
to  listen  to  the  plash  and  murmur  of  the  brook  that  ran 
merrily  beside  his  hut ;  or  pausing  'twixt  the  strokes  of  his 
ponderous  hammer  to  catch  its  never  failing  music. 

A  mighty  man  was  Beltane  the  Smith,  despite  his  youth 
already  great  of  stature  and  comely  of  feature.  Much 
knew  he  of  woodcraft,  of  the  growth  of  herb  and  tree 
and  flower,  of  beast  and  bird,  and  how  to  tell  each  by  its 
cry  or  song  or  flight;  he  knew  the  ways  of  fish  in  the 
streams,  and  could  tell  the  course  of  the  stars  in  the 
heavens ;  versed  was  he  likewise  in  the  ancient  wisdoms  and 
philosophies,  both  Latin  and  Greek,  having  learned  all 
these  things  from  him  whom  men  called  Ambrose  the  Her- 
mit. But  of  men  and  cities  he  knew  little,  and  of  women 
and  the  ways  of  women,  less  than  nothing,  for  of  these 
matters  Ambrose  spake  not. 

Thus,  being  grown  from  youth  to  manhood,  for  that  a 
man  must  needs  live,  Beltane  builded  him  a  hut  beside  the 
brook,  and  set  up  an  anvil  thereby  whereon  he  beat  out 
bill-hooks  and  axe-heads  and  such  implements  as  the  char- 


2  Beltane  the  Smith 

coal-burners  and  they  that  lived  within  the  green  had 
need  of. 

Oft-times,  of  an  evening,  he  would  seek  out  the  hermit 
Ambrose,  and  they  would  talk  together  of  many  things, 
but  seldom  of  men  and  cities,  and  never  of  women  and  the 
ways  of  women.  Once,  therefore,  wondering,  Beltane  had 
said: 

"  My  father,  amongst  all  these  matters  you  speak 
never  of  women  and  the  ways  of  women,  though  history  is 
full  of  their  doings,  and  all  poets  sing  praise  of  their  won- 
drous beauty,  as  this  Helena  of  Troy,  whom  men  called 
*  Desire  of  the  World.'  " 

But  Ambrose  sighed  and  shook  his  head,  saying: 

"Art  thou  indeed  a  man,  so  soon,  my  Beltane?"  and 
so  sat  watching  him  awhile.  Anon  he  rose  and  striding  to 
and  fro  spake  sudden  and  passionate  on  this  wise :  "  Bel- 
tane, I  tell  thee  the  beauty  of  women  is  an  evil  thing,  a 
lure  to  wreck  the  souls  of  men.  By  woman  came  sin  into 
the  world,  by  her  beauty  she  blinds  the  eyes  of  men  to 
truth  and  honour,  leading  them  into  all  manner  of  wanton- 
ness whereby  their  very  manhood  is  destroyed.  This 
Helen  of  Troy,  of  whom  ye  speak,  was  nought  but  a  vile 
adulteress,  with  a  heart  false  and  foul,  by  whose  sin  many 
died  and  Troy  town  was  utterly  destroyed." 

"  Alas !  "  sighed  Beltane,  "  that  one  so  fair  should  be 
a  thing  so  evil !  " 

Thereafter  he  went  his  way,  very  sad  and  thoughtful, 
and  that  night,  lying  upon  his  bed,  he  heard  the  voices  of 
the  trees  sighing  and  murmuring  one  to  another  like  souls 
that  sorrowed  for  sin's  sake,  and  broken  dreams  and  Ideals, 

"  Alas !  that  one  so  fair  should  be  a  thing  so  evil !  " 
But,  above  the  whispers  of  the  trees,  loud  and  insistent  rose 
the  merry  chatter  of  the  brook  speaking  to  him  of  many 
things ;  of  life,  and  the  lust  of  life ;  the  pomp  and  stir  of 
cities ;  the  sound  of  song  and  laughter ;  of  women  and  the 
beauty  of  women,  and  of  the  sweet,  mad  wonder  of  love. 
Of  all  these  things  the  brook  sang  in  the  darkness,  and 
Beltane  sighed,  and  sighing,  fell  asleep. 


How  He  Lived  in  the  Greenwood    3 

Thus  lived  my  Beltane  in  the  woodland,  ranging  the 
forest  with  eye  quick  to  see  the  beauty  of  earth  and  sky, 
and  ear  open  to  the  thousand  voices  around  him ;  or,  busied 
at  his  anvil,  hearkening  to  the  wondrous  tales  of  travel  and 
strange  adventure  told  by  wandering  knight  and  man-at- 
arms  the  while,  with  skilful  hand,  he  mended  broken  mail 
or  dented  casque;  and  thereafter,  upon  the  mossy  sward, 
would  make  trial  of  their  strength  and  valour,  whereby  he 
both  took  and  gave  right  lusty  knocks ;  or  again,  when 
work  failed,  he  would  lie  upon  the  grass,  chin  on  fist,  poring 
over  some  ancient  legend,  or  sit  with  brush  and  colours 
illuminating  on  vellum,  wherein  right  cunning  was  he. 
Now  it  chanced  that  as  he  sat  thus,  brush  in  hand,  upon  a 
certain  fair  afternoon,  he  suddenly  espied  one  who  stood 
watching  him  from  the  shade  of  a  tree,  near  by.  A  very 
tall  man  he  was,  long  and  lean  and  grim  of  aspect,  with  a 
mouth  wry-twisted  by  reason  of  an  ancient  sword-cut,  and 
yet,  withal,  he  had  a  jovial  eye.  But  now,  seeing  himself 
observed,  he  shook  his  grizzled  head  and  sighed.  Whereat 
said  Beltane,  busied  with  his  brush  again : 

"  Good  sir,  pray  what's  amiss?  " 

"  The  world,  youth,  the  world  — 'tis  all  amiss.  Yet 
mark  me!  here  sit  you  a-dabbing  colour  with  a  little 
brush !  " 

Answered  Beltane: 

*'  An  so  ye  seek  to  do  your  duty  as  regardfully  as  I 
now  daub  this  colour,  messire,  in  so  much  shall  the  world 
be  bettered." 

"  My  duty,  youth,"  quoth  the  stranger,  rasping  a  hand 
across  his  grizzled  chin,  "  my  duty.?  Ha,  'tis  well  said,  so 
needs  must  I  now  fight  with  thee." 

"  Fight  with  me !  "  says  Beltane,  his  keen  gaze  upon  the 
speaker. 

"  Aye,  verily ! "  nodded  the  stranger,  and,  forthwith, 
laying  by  his  long  cloak,  he  showed  two  swords  whose 
broad  blades  glittered,  red  and  evil,  in  the  sunset. 

"  But,"  says  Beltane,  shaking  his  head,  "  I  have  no 
quarrel  with  thee,  good  fellow." 


4  Beltane  the  Smith 

"Quarrel?"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  "no  quarrel, 
quotha?  What  matter  for  that?  Surely  you  would  not 
forego  a  good  bout  for  so  small  a  matter?  Doth  a  man 
eat  only  when  famishing,  or  drink  but  to  quench  his  thirst? 
Out  upon  thee,  messire  smith !  " 

"  But  sir,"  said  Beltane,  bending  to  his  brush  again, 
"  an  I  should  fight  with  thee,  where  would  be  the  reason?  " 

"  Nowhere,  youth,  since  fighting  is  ever  at  odds  with 
reason ;  yet  for  such  unreasonable  reasons  do  reasoning 
men  fight." 

"  None  the  less,  I  will  not  fight  thee,"  answered  Beltane, 
deftly  touching  in  the  wing  of  an  archangel,  "  so  let  there 
be  an  end  on't." 

"  End  forsooth,  we  have  not  yet  begun !  An  you  must 
have  a  quarrel,  right  fully  will  I  provoke  thee,  since  fight 
with  thee  I  must,  it  being  so  my  duty  — " 

"How  thy  duty?" 

*'  I  am  so  commanded." 

"By  whom?" 

"  By  one  who,  being  dead,  yet  liveth.  Nay,  ask  no 
names,  yet  mark  me  this  —  the  world's  amiss,  boy.  Pen- 
tavalon  groans  beneath  a  black  usurper's  heel,  all  the  sins 
of  hell  are  loose,  murder  and  riot,  lust  and  rapine. 
March  you  eastward  but  a  day  through  the  forest  yonder 
and  you  shall  see  the  trees  bear  strange  fruit  in  our  coun- 
try. The  world's  amiss,  messire,  yet  here  sit  you  wasting 
your  days,  a  foolish  brush  stuck  in  thy  fist.  So  am  I 
come,  nor  will  I  go  hence  until  I  have  tried  thy  mettle." 

Quoth  Beltane,  shaking  his  head,  intent  upon  his  work: 

"  You  speak  me  riddles,  sir." 

"  Yet  can  I  speak  thee  to  the  point  and  so  it  be  thy 
wish,  as  thus  —  now  mark  me,  boy !  Thou  art  a  fool,  a 
dog,  a  fatuous  ass,  a  slave,  a  nincompoop,  a  cowardly  boy, 
and  as  such  —  mark  me  again  !  —  now  do  I  spit  at  thee !  " 

Hereupon  Beltane,  having  finished  the  archangel's  wing, 
laid  by  his  brush  and,  with  thoughtful  mien,  arose,  and 
being  upon  his  feet,  turned  him,  swift  and  sudden,  and 
caught  the  stranger  in  a  fierce  and  cunning  wrestling 


How  He  Lived  in  the  Greenwood    5 

grip,  and  forthwith  threw  him  upon  his  back.  Whereat 
this  strange  man,  sitting  cross-legged  upon  the  sward, 
smiled  his  wry  and  twisted  smile  and  looked  upon  Beltane 
with  bright,  approving  eye. 

"  A  pretty  spirit !  "  he  nodded.  "  'Tis  a  sweet  and 
gentle  youth  all  good  beef  and  bone ;  a  little  green  as  yet, 
perchance,  but  'tis  no  matter.  A  mighty  arm,  a  noble 
thigh,  and  shoulders  —  body  o'  me !  But  'tis  in  the  breed. 
Young  sir,  by  these  same  signs  and  portents  my  soul  is 
uplifted  and  hope  singeth  a  new  song  within  me !  "  So 
saying,  the  stranger  sprang  nimbly  to  his  feet  and  catch- 
ing up  one  of  the  swords  took  it  by  the  blade  and  gave 
its  massy  hilt  to  Beltane's  hand.      Said  he: 

"  Look  M'ell  upon  this  blade,  young  sir;  in  duchy,  king- 
dom or  county  you  shall  not  find  its  match,  nor  the  like 
of  the  terrible  hand  that  bore  it.  Time  was  when  this 
good  steel  —  mark  how  it  glitters  yet !  —  struck  deep  for 
liberty  and  justice  and  all  fair  things,  before  whose  might 
oppression  quailed  and  hung  its  head,  and  in  whose  shadow 
peace  and  mercy  rested.  'Twas  long  ago,  but  this  good 
steel  is  bright  and  undimmed  as  ever.  Ha !  mark  it,  boy 
—  those  eyes  o'  thine  shall  ne'er  behold  its  equal !  " 

So  Beltane  took  hold  upon  the  great  sword,  felt  the 
spring  and  balance  of  the  blade  and  viewed  it  up  from 
glittering  point  to  plain  and  simple  cross-guard.  And 
thus,  graven  deep  within  the  broad  steel  he  read  this  word : 

KESUEGAM. 

"  Ha !  '*  cried  the  stranger,  "  see  you  the  legend,  good 
youth?      Speak  me  now  what  it  doth  signify." 

And  Beltane  answered: 

"  *  I  shall  arise ! '  " 

"  '  Arise  '  good  boy,  aye,  verily,  mark  me  that.  'Tis 
a  fair  thought,  look  you,  and  the  motto  of  a  great  and 
noble  house,  and,  by  the  Rood,  I  think,  likewise  a  proph- 
ecy !  "  Thus  speaking  the  stranger  stooped,  and  taking 
up  the  other  sword  faced  Beltane  therewith,  saying  in 
soft  and  wheedling  tones :   "  Come  now,  let  us  fight  to- 


6  Beltane  the  Smith 

gether  thou  and  I,  and  deny  me  not,  lest, —  mark  me  this 
well,  youth, —  lest  I  spit  at  thee  again." 

Then  he  raised  his  sword,  and  smote  Beltane  with  the 
flat  of  it,  and  the  blow  stung,  wherefore  Beltane  instinc- 
tively swung  his  weapon  and  thrilled  with  sudden  un- 
known joy  at  the  clash  of  steel  on  steel;  and  so  they  en- 
gaged. 

And  there,  within  the  leafy  solitude.  Beltane  and  the 
stranger  fought  together.  The  long  blades  whirled  and 
flashed  and  rang  upon  the  stillness ;  and  ever,  as  they 
fought,  the  stranger  smiled  his  wry  smile,  mocking  and 
gibing  at  him,  whereat  Beltane's  mouth  grew  the  grimmer 
and  his  blows  the  heavier,  yet  wherever  he  struck,  there 
already  was  the  stranger's  blade  to  meet  him,  whereat  the 
stranger  laughed  fierce  and  loud,  taunting  him  on  this 
wise: 

"  How  now,  thou  dauber  of  colours,  betake  thee  to  thy 
little  brush,  belike  it  shall  serve  thee  better !  Aye  me, 
betake  thee  to  thy  little  brush,  'twere  better  fitted  to  thee 
than  a  noble  sword,  thou  daubing  boy !  " 

Now  did  my  Beltane  wax  wroth  indeed  and  smote  amain 
until  his  breath  grew  short  and  thick,  but  ever  steel  rang 
on  steel,  and  ever  the  stranger  laughed  and  gibed  until 
Beltane's  strokes  grew  slower :  —  then,  with  a  sudden 
fierce  shout,  did  the  stranger  beset  my  Beltane  with  strokes 
so  swift  and  strong,  now  to  right  of  him,  now  to  left,  that 
the  very  air  seemed  full  of  flaming,  whirling  steel,  and, 
in  that  moment,  as  Beltane  gave  back,  the  stranger  smote 
thrice  in  as  many  moments  with  the  flat  of  his  blade, 
once  upon  the  crown,  once  upon  the  shoulder,  and  once 
upon  the  thigh.  Fierce  eyed  and  scant  of  breath.  Bel- 
tane redoubled  his  blows,  striving  to  beat  his  mocker  to 
the  earth,  whereat  he  but  laughed  again,  saying: 

"  Look  to  thy  long  legs,  dullard !  "  and  forthwith  smote 
Beltane  upon  the  leg.  "  Now  thine  arm,  slothful  boy  — 
thy  left  arm ! "  and  he  smote  Beltane  upon  the  arm. 
"  Now  thy  sconce,  boy,  thy  mazzard,  thy  sleepy,  golden 
head !  "  and  straightway  he  smote  him  on  the  head,  and. 


How  He  Lived  in  the  Greenwood    7 

thereafter,  with  sudden,  cunning  stroke,  beat  the  great 
sword  from  Beltane's  grip,  and  so,  laughing  yet,  paused 
and  stood  leaning  upon  his  own  long  weapon. 

But  Beltane  stood  with  bent  head,  hurt  in  his  pride, 
angry  and  beyond  all  thought  amazed;  yet,  being  hum- 
bled most  of  all  he  kept  his  gaze  bent  earthwards  and 
spake  no  word. 

Now  hereupon  the  stranger  grew  solemn  likewise  and 
looked  at  Beltane  with  kindly,  approving  eyes. 

"  Nay,  indeed,"  quoth  he,  "  be  not  abashed,  good  youth ; 
take  it  not  amiss  that  I  have  worsted  thee.  'Tis  true,  had 
I  been  so  minded  I  might  have  cut  thee  into  gobbets  no 
larger  than  thy  little  brush,  but  then,  body  o'  me!  I  have 
lived  by  stroke  of  sword  from  my  youth  up  and  have 
fought  in  divers  wars  and  countries,  so  take  it  not  to  heart, 
good  youth !  "  With  the  word  he  nodded  and,  stooping, 
took  up  the  sword,  and,  thereafter,  cast  his  cloak  about 
him,  whereat  Beltane  lifted  his  head  and  spake: 

"  Art  going,  sir?  Wilt  not  try  me  once  again .^  Me- 
thinks  I  might  do  a  little  better  this  time,  an  so  God  wills." 

"  Aye,  so  thou  shalt,  sweet  youth,"  cried  the  stranger, 
clapping  him  upon  the  shoulder,  "  yet  not  now,  for  I  must 
begone,  yet  shall  I  return." 

"  Then  I  pray  you  leave  with  me  the  sword  till  you  be 
come  again." 

"  The  sword  —  ha !  doth  thy  soul  cleave  unto  it  so  soon, 
my  good,  sweet  boy?  Leave  the  sword,  quotha?  Aye, 
truly  —  some  day.  But  for  the  nonce  —  no,  no,  thy  hand 
is  not  fitted  to  bear  it  yet,  nor  worthy  such  a  blade,  but 
some  day,  belike  —  who  knows  ?  Fare  thee  well,  sweet 
youth,  I  come  again  to-morrow." 

And  so  the  tall,  grim  stranger  turned  him  about,  smiling 
his  wry  smile,  and  strode  away  through  the  green.  Then 
Beltane  went  back,  minded  to  finish  his  painting,  but  the 
colours  had  lost  their  charm  for  him,  moreover,  the  light 
was  failing.  Wherefore  he  put  brushes  and  colours  aside, 
and,  stripping,  plunged  into  the  cool,  sweet  waters  of  a 
certain  quiet  pool,  and  so,  much  heartened  and  refreshed 


8  Beltane  the  Smith 

thereby,  went  betimes  to  bed.  But  now  he  thought  no 
more  of  women  and  the  ways  of  women,  but  rather  of  this 
stranger  man,  of  his  wry  smile  and  of  his  wondrous  sword- 
play  ;  and  bethinking  him  of  the  great  sword,  he  yearned 
after  it,  as  only  youth  may  yearn,  and  so,  sighing,  fell 
asleep.  And  in  his  dreams  all  night  was  the  rushing 
thunder  of  many  fierce  feet  and  the  roaring  din  of  bitter 
fight  and  conflict. 

Up  to  an  elbow  sprang  Beltane  to  find  the  sun  new  risen, 
filling  his  humble  chamber  with  its  golden  glory,  and,  in 
this  radiance,  upon  the  open  threshold,  the  tall,  grim 
figure  of  the  stranger. 

"  Messire,"  quoth  Beltane,  rubbing  sleepy  eyes,  "  you 
wake  betimes,  meseemeth." 

"  Aye,  sluggard  boy ;   there  is  work  to  do  betwixt  us." 

"  How  so,  sir?  " 

"  My  time  in  the  greenwood  groweth  short ;  within  the 
week  I  must  away,  for  there  are  wars  and  rumours  of 
wars  upon  the  borders." 

Quoth  Beltane,  wondering: 

"  War  and  conflict  have  been  within  my  dreams  all 
night !  " 

"  Dreams,  boy !  I  tell  thee  the  time  groweth  ripe  for 
action  —  and,  mark  me  this !  wherein,  perchance,  thou  too 
shalt  share,  yet  much  have  I  to  teach  thee  first,  so  rise, 
slug-a-bed,  rise !  " 

Now  when  Beltane  was  risen  and  clad  he  folded  his  arms 
across  his  broad  chest  and  stared  upon  the  stranger  with 
grave,  deep-searching  eyes. 

"  Who  art  thou.''  "  he  questioned,  "  and  what  would  you 
here  again?  " 

"  As  to  thy  first  question,  sir  smith,  'tis  no  matter  for 
that,  but  as  for  thy  second,  to-day  am  I  come  to  teach  thee 
the  use  and  manage  of  horse  and  lance,  it  being  so  my 
duty." 

"  And  wherefore  thy  duty?  " 

"  For  that  I  am  so  commanded." 


How  He  Lived  in  the  Greenwood    9 

"By  whom?" 

"  By  one  who  yet  liveth,  being  dead." 

Now  Beltane  frowned  at  this,  and  shook  his  head,  say- 
ing: 

"  More  riddles,  messire  ?  Yet  now  will  I  speak  thee 
plain,  as  thus :  I  am  a  smith,  and  have  no  lust  to  strife  or 
knightly  deeds,  nor  will  I  e'er  attempt  them,  for  strife 
begetteth  bitter  strife  and  war  is  an  evil  thing.  '  They 
that  trust  to  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword,'  'tis  so 
written,  and  is,  meseemeth,  a  faithful  saying.  This  sorry 
world  hath  known  over  much  of  war  and  hate,  of  strife  and 
bloodshed,  so  shall  these  my  hands  go  innocent  of  more." 

Then  indeed  did  the  stranger  stare  with  jaws  agape  for 
wonder  at  my  Beltane's  saying,  and,  so  staring,  turned  him 
to  the  door  and  back  again,  and  fain  would  speak,  yet 
could  not  for  a  while.     Then : 

"  Besotted  boy !  "  he  cried.  "  O  craven  youth !  O 
babe!  O  suckling!  Was  it  for  this  thou  wert  begot? 
Hast  thou  no  bowels,  no  blood,  no  manhood?  Forsooth, 
and  must  I  spit  on  thee  indeed?  " 

"  And  so  it  be  thy  will,  messire,"  said  Beltane,  steady- 
eyed. 

But  as  they  stood  thus.  Beltane  with  arms  yet  crossed, 
his  lips  up-curving  at  the  other's  fierce  amaze,  the  stranger 
grim-faced  and  frowning,  came  a  shadow  athwart  the  level 
glory  of  the  sun,  and,  turning,  Beltane  beheld  the  hermit 
Ambrose,  tall  and  spare  beneath  his  tattered  gown,  bare- 
headed and  bare  of  foot,  whose  eyes  were  bright  and  quick, 
despite  the  snow  of  hair  and  beard,  and  in  whose  gentle 
face  and  humble  mien  was  yet  a  high  and  noble  look  at 
odds  with  his  lowly  guise  and  tattered  vesture ;  at  sight  of 
whom  the  grim-faced  stranger,  of  a  sudden,  bowed  his 
grizzled  head  and  sank  upon  his  knee. 

"  Lord ! "  he  said,  and  kissed  the  hermit's  long,  coarse 
robe.  Whereon  the  hermit  bent  and  touched  him  with  a 
gentle  hand. 

"  Benedicite,  my  son !  "  said  he.  "  Go  you,  and  leave 
us  together  a  while." 


lo  Beltane  the  Smith 

Forthwith  the  stranger  rose  from  his  knee  and  went  out 
into  the  glory  of  the  morning.  Then  the  hermit  came  to 
Beltane  and  set  his  two  hands  upon  his  mighty  shoulders 
and  spake  to  him  very  gently,  on  this  wise : 

"  Thou  knowest,  my  Beltane,  how  all  thy  days  I  have 
taught  thee  to  love  all  fair,  and  sweet,  and  noble  things,  for 
they  are  of  God.  'Twere  a  fair  thought,  now,  to  live 
out  thy  life  here,  within  these  calm,  leafy  solitudes  —  but 
better  death  by  the  sword  for  some  high,  unselfish  pur- 
pose, than  to  live  out  a  life  of  ease,  safe  and  cloistered  all 
thy  days.  To  live  for  thine  own  ends  — 'tis  human ;  to  die 
for  some  great  cause,  for  liberty,  or  for  another's  good  — 
that,  my  son,  were  God-like.  And  there  was  a  Man  of 
Sorrows  Whose  word  was  this,  that  He  came  '  not  to  bring 
peace  on  this  earth,  but  a  sword.'  For  good  cannot  out- 
face evil  but  strife  must  needs  follow.  Behold  now  here 
another  sword,  my  Beltane;  keep  it  henceforth  so  long  as 
thou  keep  honour."  So  saying,  Ambrose  the  Hermit  took 
from  beneath  his  habit  that  for  which  Beltane  had  yearned, 
that  same  great  blade  whereon  whose  steel  was  graven  the 
legend  ; 

EESUEGAM. 

So  Ambrose  put  the  sword  in  Beltane's  hand,  saying: 

"  Be  terrible,  my  son,  that  evil  may  flee  before  thee, 
learn  to  be  strong  that  thou  may'st  be  merciful."  Then 
the  hermit  stretched  forth  his  hands  and  blessed  my  Bel- 
tane, and  turned  about,  and  so  was  gone. 

But  Beltane  stood  awhile  to  swing  the  great  blade  lightlyj 
to  and  fro  and  to  stare  upon  it  with  shining  eyes.  Then, 
having  hid  it  within  his  bed,  he  went  forth  into  the  glade. 
And  here  he  presently  beheld  a  great  grey  horse  tethered 
to  a  tree  hard  by,  a  mettled  steed  that  tossed  its  noble 
head  and  snuffed  the  fragrant  air  of  morning,  pawing  at 
the  earth  with  impatient  hoof.  Now,  as  he  stood  gazing, 
came  the  stranger  and  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"  Mcssire,"  said  he,  "  try  an  thou  canst  back  the  steed 
yonder." 


How  He  Lived  in  the  Greenwood     1 1 

Beltane  smiled,  for  he  had  loved  horses  all  his  days,  and 
loosing  the  horse,  led  it  out  into  the  open  and  would  have 
mounted,  but  the  spirited  beast,  knowing  him  not,  reared 
and  plunged  and  strove  to  break  the  grip  upon  the  bridle, 
but  the  grip  was  strong  and  compelling;  then  Beltane 
soothed  him  with  gentle  voice  and  hand,  and,  of  a  sudden, 
vaulted  lightly  into  the  saddle,  and  being  there,  felt  the 
great  beast  rear  under  him,  and,  laughing  joyously,  struck 
him  with  open  palm  and  set  off  at  a  thunderous  gallop. 
Away,  away  they  sped  up  the  sunny  glade,  past  oak  and 
beech  and  elm,  through  light  and  shadow,  until  before  them 
showed  a  tree  of  vast  girth  and  mighty  spread  of  branches. 
Now  would  Beltane  have  reined  aside,  but  the  great  horse, 
ears  flat  and  eyes  rolling,  held  blindly  on.  Then  Beltane 
frowned  and  leaning  forward,  seized  the  bridle  close  beside 
the  bit,  and  gripping  it  so,  put  forth  his  strength. 
Slowly,  slowly  the  great,  fierce  head  was  drawn  low  and 
lower,  the  foam-flecked  jaws  gaped  wide,  but  Beltane's 
grip  grew  ever  the  fiercer  until,  snorting,  panting,  wild- 
eyed,  the  great  grey  horse  faltered  in  his  stride,  checked 
his  pace,  slipped,  stumbled,  and  so  stood  quivering  in  the 
shade  of  the  tree.  Thereafter  Beltane  turned  him  and, 
galloping  back,  drew  rein  where  the  stranger  sat,  cross- 
legged,  watching  him  with  his  wry  smile. 

"  Aye,"  he  nodded,  "  we  shall  make  of  thee  a  horseman 
yet.     But  as  to  lance  now,  and  armour — " 

Quoth  Beltane,  smiling: 

"  Good  sir,  I  am  a  smith,  and  in  my  time  have  mended 
many  a  suit  of  mail,  aye,  and  made  them  too,  though  'twas 
but  to  try  my  hand.  As  for  a  lance,  I  have  oft  tilted 
at  the  ring  astride  a  forest  pony,  and  betimes,  have  run  a 
course  with  wandering  men-at-arms." 

"  Say  you  so,  boy?  "  said  the  stranger,  and  rising,  took 
from  behind  a  tree  a  long  and  heavy  lance  and  thrust  it 
into  Beltane's  grip;  then,  drawing  his  sword,  he  set  it 
upright  in  the  sward,  and  upon  the  hilt  he  put  his  cap, 
saying : 

"  Ride  back  up  the  glade,  and  try  an  thou  canst  pick 


12  Beltane  the  Smith 

up  my  cap  on  thy  point,  at  a  gallop."  So  Beltane  rode 
up  the  glade  and  wheeling  at  a  distance,  came  galloping 
down  with  levelled  lance,  and  thundered  by  with  the  cap 
fluttering  from  his  lance  point. 

"  Art  less  of  a  dullard  than  I  thought  thee,"  said  the 
stranger,  taking  back  his  cap,  "  though,  mark  me  boy, 
'tis  another  matter  to  ride  against  a  man  fully  armed  and 
equipped,  lance  to  lance  and  shield  to  shield,  than  to  charge 
a  harmless,  ancient  leathern  cap.  Still,  art  less  of  a 
dullard  than  I  thought  thee.  But  there  is  the  sword, 
now  —  with  the  sword  thou  art  indeed  but  a  sorry  fool ! 
Go  fetch  the  sword  and  I  will  e'en  belabor  thee  again." 

So  Beltane,  lighting  down  from  the  horse  that  reared 
and  plunged  no  more,  went  and  fetched  the  gi'eat  sword; 
and  when  they  had  laid  their  jerkins  by  (for  the  sun  was 
hot)  they  faced  each  other,  foot  to  foot  and  eye  to  eye. 
Then  once  again  the  long  blades  whirled  and  flew  and  rang 
together,  and  once  again  the  stranger  laughed  and  gibed 
and  struck  my  Beltane  how  and  where  he  would,  nor  gave 
him  stay  or  respite  till  Beltane's  mighty  arm  grew  aweary 
and  his  shoulder  ached  and  burned;  then,  when  he  recked 
not  of  it,  the  stranger,  with  the  same  cunning  stroke,  beat 
the  sword  from  Beltane's  hand,  and  laughed  aloud  and 
wagged  his  head,  saying: 

"Art  faint,  boy,  and  scant  o'  breath  already.''  Me- 
thinks  we  ne'er  shall  make  of  thee  a  lusty  sworder !  "  But 
beholding  Beltane's  flushing  cheek  and  drooping  eye, 
reached  out  and  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Go  to !  "  cried  he,  "  art  young  and  all  unlearned  as 
yet  —  heed  not  my  gibes  and  quirks,  'tis  ever  so  my  custom 
when  steel  is  ringing,  and  mark  me,  I  do  think  it  a  good 
custom,  as  apt  to  put  a  man  off  his  ward  and  flurry  him 
in  his  stroke.  Never  despair,  youth,  for  I  tell  thee,  north 
and  south,  and  east  and  west  my  name  is  known,  nor  shall 
you  find  in  any  duchy,  kingdom  or  county,  a  sworder  such 
as  I.  For,  mark  me  now !  your  knight  and  man-at-arms, 
trusting  to  his  armour,  doth  use  his  sword  but  to  thrust 
and    smite.     But  —  and    mark   me    again,    boy !    a    man 


How  He  Lived  in  the  Greenwood     13 

cannot  go  ever  in  his  armour,  nor  yet  be  sure  when  foes 
are  nigh,  and,  at  all  times,  'tis  well  to  make  thy  weapon 
both  sword  and  shield;  'tis  a  goodly  art,  indeed  I  think 
a  pretty  one.  Come  now,  take  up  thy  sword  and  I  will 
teach  thee  all  my  strokes  and  show  thee  how  'tis  done." 

Thus  then,  this  stranger  dwelt  the  week  with  Beltane 
in  the  greenwood,  teaching  him,  day  by  day,  tricks  of 
sword  and  much  martial  lore  beside.  And,  day  by  day,  a 
friendship  waxed  and  grew  betwixt  them  so  that  upon  the 
seventh  morning,  as  they  broke  their  fast  together,  Bel- 
tane's heart  was  heavy  and  his  look  downcast ;  whereat  the 
stranger  spake  him  thus : 

"  Whence  thy  dole,  good  youth?  " 

*'  For  that  to-day  needs  must  I  part  with  thee." 

*'  And  thy  friends  are  few,  belike  .^  " 

"  None,  messire,"  answered  Beltane,  sighing. 

"  Aye  me !  And  yet  'tis  well  enough,  for  —  mark  me, 
youth  !  —  friends  be  ofttimes  a  mixed  blessing.  As  for 
me,  'tis  true  I  am  thy  friend  and  so  shall  ever  be,  so  long  as 
you  shall  bear  yon  goodly  blade." 

"And  wherefore.-^"  questioned  Beltane. 

"  Moreover  thou  art  my  scholar,  and  like,  perchance,  to 
prove  thyself,  some  day,  a  notable  sworder  and  a  sweet 
and  doughty  fighter,  belike." 

"  Yet  hast  never  spoken  me  thy  name,  messire." 

"  Why,  hast  questioned  me  but  once,  and  then  thou 
wert  something  of  a  blockhead  dreamer,  methought.  But 
now,  messire  Beltane,  since  thou  would'st  know — r  Bene- 
dict of  Bourne  am  I  called." 

Now  hereupon  Beltane  rose  and  stood  upon  his  feet, 
staring  wide-eyed  at  this  grim-faced  stranger  who,  with 
milk-bowl  at  lip,  paused  to  smile  his  wry  smile.  "  Aha !  " 
said  he,  "  hast  heard  such  a  name  ere  now,  even  here  in 
the  greenwood  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  answered  Beltane,  "  betimes  I  have  talked  with 
soldiers  and  men-at-arms,  so  do  I  know  thee  for  that  same 
great  knight  who,  of  all  the  nobles  of  Pentavalon,  doth  yet 
withstand  the  great  Duke  Ivo  — " 


14  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Call  you  that  black  usurper  *  great,'  youth?  Body 
o'  me !     I  knew  a  greater,  once,  methinks !  " 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  there  was  him  men  called 
*  Beltane  the  Strong.'  " 

"  Ha ! "  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  setting  down  his  milk- 
bowl,  "  what  know  you  of  Duke  Beltane?  " 

"  Nought  but  that  he  was  a  great  and  lusty  fighter  who 
yet  loved  peace  and  mercy,  but  truth  and  justice  most  of 
all." 

"  And  to-day,"  sighed  Sir  Benedict,  "  to-day  we  have 
Black  Ivo !  Aye  me !  these  be  sorry  days  for  Pentavalon. 
'Tis  said  he  woos  the  young  Duchess  yonder.  Hast  ever 
seen  Helen  of  Mortain,  sir  smith?  " 

"  Nay,  but  I've  heard  tell  that  she  is  wondrous 
fair." 

"Hum!"  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  "  I  love  not  your  red- 
haired  spit-fires.  Methinks,  an  Ivo  win  her,  she'll  lead 
him  how  she  will,  or  be  broke  in  the  adventure  —  a  malison 
upon  him,  be  it  how  it  may ! " 

So,  having  presently  made  an  end  of  eating,  Sir  Bene- 
dict arose  and  forthwith  donned  quilted  gambeson,  and 
thereafter  his  hauberk  of  bright  mail  and  plain  surcoat, 
and  buckling  his  sword  about  him,  strode  into  the  glade 
where  stood  the  great  grey  horse.  Now,  being  mounted, 
Sir  Benedict  stayed  awhile  to  look  down  at  Beltane,  whiles 
Beltane  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Messire  Beltane,"  said  he,  pointing  to  his  scarred 
cheek,  "  you  look  upon  my  scar,  I  think?  " 

Quoth  Beltane,  flushing  hot : 

"  Nay,  sir ;  in  truth,  not  I." 

*'  Why  look  now,  sweet  youth,  'tis  a  scar  that  likes  me 
well,  though  'twas  in  no  battle  I  took  it,  yet  none  the  less, 
I  would  not  be  without  it.  By  this  I  may  be  known  among 
a  thousand.  *  Benedict  o'  the  Mark,'  some  call  me,  and 
'tis,  methinks,  as  fair  a  name  as  any.  But  look  now,  and 
mark  me  this  well,  Beltane, —  should  any  come  to  thee 
within  the  green,  by  day  or  night,  and  say  to  thee,  '  Bene- 
dict o'  the  Mark  bids  thee  arise  and  follow,' —  then  follow, 


How  He  Lived  in  the  Greenwood     15 

messire,  and  so,  peradventure,  thou  shalt  arise  indeed. 
Dost  mark  me  well,  youth?  '* 

"  Aye,  Sir  Benedict." 

*'  Heigho ! "  sighed  Sir  Benedict,  "  thou'rt  a  fair  sized 
Babe  to  bear  within  a  cloak,  and  thou  hast  been  baptized 
in  blood  ere  now  —  and  there  be  more  riddles  for  thee, 
boy,  and  so,  until  we  meet,  fare  thee  well,  messire  Bel- 
tane!" 

So  saying,  Sir  Benedict  of  Bourne  smiled  his  twisted 
smile  and,  wheeHng  his  horse,  rode  away  down  the  glade, 
his  mail  glistening  in  the  early  light  and  his  lance  point 
winking  and  twinkling  amid  the  green. 


CHAPTER  II 

HOW  BELTANE  HAD  WORD  WITH  THE  DUKE,   BLACK  IVO 

Now  it  fell  out  upon  a  day,  that  as  Beltane  strode  the 
forest  ways,  there  met  him  a  fine  cavalcade,  gay  with  the 
stir  of  broidered  petticoat  and  ermined  mantle ;  and,  paus- 
ing beneath  a  tree,  he  stood  to  hearken  to  the  soft,  sweet 
voices  of  the  ladies  and  to  gaze  enraptured  upon  their 
varied  beauty.  Foremost  of  all  rode  a  man  richly  habited, 
a  man  of  great  strength  and  breadth  of  shoulder,  and  of 
a  bearing  high  and  arrogant.  His  face,  framed  in  long 
black  hair  that  curled  to  meet  his  shoulder,  was  of  a  dark 
and  swarthy  hue,  fierce  looking  and  masterful  by  reason 
of  prominent  chin  and  high-arched  nose,  and  of  his  thin- 
lipped,  relentless  mouth.  Black  were  his  eyes  and  bold; 
now  staring  bright  and  wide,  now  glittering  'twixt  heavy, 
narrowed  lids ;  yet  when  he  smiled  they  glittered  brightest, 
and  his  lips  showed  moistly  red.  Beside  him  rode  a  ladyi 
of  a  wondrous  dark  beauty,  sleepy  eyed  and  languid;  yet 
her  glance  was  quick  to  meet  the  Duke's  bold  look,  and, 
'neath  her  mantle,  her  fingers  met,  once  in  a  while,  and 
clung  with  his,  what  time  his  red  lips  would  smile;  but, 
for  the  most  part,  his  brow  was  gloomy  and  he  fingered  his 
chin  as  one  in  thought. 

As  he  paced  along  upon  his  richly  caparisoned  steed, 
pinching  at  his  long,  blue-shaven  chin  with  supple  fingers, 
his  heavy  brows  drawn  low,  of  a  sudden  his  narrowed  lids 
widened  and  his  eyes  gleamed  bright  and  black  as  they 
beheld  my  Beltane  standing  in  the  shade  of  the  tree. 

*'  Aha !  "  said  he,  drawing  rein,  "  what  insolent,  long- 
legged  rogue  art  thou,  to  stand  gaping  at  thy  betters.''" 

And  Beltane  answered: 


How  He  Had  Word  with  the  Duke    17 

"  No  rogue,  messire,  but  an  honest  man,  I  pray  God, 
whom  folk  call  Beltane  the  Smith." 

The  staring  eyes  grew  suddenly  narrow,  the  scarlet 
mouth  curled  in  a  slow  smile,  and  the  tall  man  spake,  yet 
with  his  gaze  bent  ever  upon  Beltane ; 

"  Fair  lords,"  he  said,  "  and  you,  most  sweet  and  gentle 
ladies,  our  sport  hath  been  but  poor,  hitherto  —  methinks 
I  can  show  you  a  better,  'tis  a  game  we  play  full  oft  in 
my  country.  Would  that  our  gracious  lady  of  Mortain 
were  here,  nor  had  balked  us  of  her  wilful  company.  Ho ! 
Gefroi ! "  he  called,  "  come  you  and  break  me  the  back  of 
this  *  honest '  rogue."  And  straightway  came  one  from 
the  rear,  where  rode  the  servants  and  men-at-arms,  a  great, 
bronzed  fellow,  bearded  to  the  eyes  of  him,  loosing  his 
sword-belt  as  he  came;  who,  having  tossed  aside  cap  and 
pourpoint,  strode  toward  Beltane,  his  eyes  quick  and 
bright,  his  teeth  agleam  through  the  hair  of  his  beard. 

"  Come,  thou  forest  rogue,"  said  he,  "  my  lord  Duke 
loveth  not  to  wait  for  man  or  maid,  so  —  have  at  thee !  " 

Great  he  looked  and  tall  as  Beltane's  self,  a  hairy  man 
of  mighty  girth  with  muscles  that  swelled  on  arm  and 
breast  and  rippled  upon  his  back.  Thus,  as  Y^  stood  and 
laughed,  grimly  confident  and  determined,  not  a  few  were 
they  who  sighed  for  Beltane  for  his  youth's  sake,  and  be- 
cause of  his  golden  curls  and  gentle  eyes,  for  this  Gefroi 
was  accounted  a  very  strong  man,  and  a  matchless  wrestler 
withal. 

"  'Tis  a  fair  match,  how  think  you.  Sir  Jocelyn,?  "  said 
the  Duke,  and  turned  him  to  one  who  rode  at  his  elbow; 
a  youthful,  slender  figure  with  long  curled  hair  and  sleepy 
eyes,  "  a  fair  match.  Sir  Jocelyn.?  " 

"  In  very  sooth,  sweet  my  lord,  gramercy  and  by  your 
gracious  leave  —  not  so,"  sighed  Sir  Jocelyn.  "  This 
Gefroi  o'  thine  is  a  rare  breaker  of  necks  and  hath  o'er- 
thrown  all  the  wrestlers  in  the  three  duchies;  a  man  is 
he,  set  in  his  strength  and  experienced,  but  this  forester, 
tall  though  he  be,  is  but  a  beardless  youth." 

The  Duke   smiled  his   slow   smile,  his   curving  nostrils 


1 8  Beltane  the  Smith 

quivered  and  were  still,  and  he  glanced  toward  Sir  Jocelyn 
through  veiling  lids.     Quoth  he: 

"  Art,  rather,  for  a  game  of  ball,  messire,  or  a  song 
upon  a  lute?  "  So  saying  he  turned  and  signed  to  Gefroi 
with  his  finger;  as  for  Sir  Jocelyn,  he  only  curled  a  lock 
of  his  long  hair,  and  hummed  beneath  his  breath. 

Now  Beltane,  misliking  the  matter,  would  fain  have 
gone  upon  his  way,  but  wheresoever  he  turned,  there  Gefroi 
was  also,  barring  his  path,  wherefore  Beltane's  eye  kindled 
and  he  raised  his  staff  threateningly. 

"  Fellow,"  quoth  he,  "  stand  from  my  way,  lest  I  mis- 
chief thee." 

But  Gefroi  only  laughed  and  looked  to  his  lord,  who, 
beckoning  an  archer,  bid  him  lay  an  arrow  to  his  string. 

"  Shoot  me  the  cowardly  rogue  so  soon  as  he  turn  his 
back,"  said  he,  whereat  Gefroi  laughed  again,  wagging 
his  head. 

"  Come,  forest  knave,"  quoth  he,  "  I  know  a  trick  to 
snap  thy  neck  so  sweetly  shalt  never  know,  I  warrant 
thee.  Come,  'twill  take  but  a  moment,  and  my  lord  begins 
to  lack  of  patience." 

So  Beltane  laid  by  his  staff,  and  tightening  his  girdle, 
faced  the  hairy  Gefroi ;  and  there  befell  that,  the  which, 
though  you  shall  find  no  mention  of  it  in  any  chronicle, 
came  much  to  be  talked  of  thereafter;  so  that  a  ballade 
was  writ  of  it  the  which  beginneth  thus: 

*  Beltane  wrestled  in  the  green 

With  a  mighty  man, 
A  goodlier  bout  was  never  seen 
Since  the  world  began.' 

While  Beltane  was  tightening  his  girdle,  swift  and  sud- 
den Gefroi  closed,  pinning  his  arms  in  a  cunning  hold,  and 
thrice  he  swung  my  Beltane  from  his  feet  so  that  many 
clapped  their  hands  the  while  the  squires  and  men-at-arms 
shouted  lustily.  Only  Sir  Jocelyn  curled  the  lock  of  hair 
upon  his  finger  and  was  silent. 

To  him  quoth  my  lord  Duke,  smiling: 


How  He  Had  Word  with  the  Duke    1 9 

"  Messire,  an  you  be  in  a  mind  to  wager  now,  I  will  lay 
you  this  my  roan  stallion  'gainst  that  suit  of  triple  mail 
you  won  at  Dunismere  joust,  that  Gefroi  breaks  thy  for- 
ester's back  within  two  falls  —  how  say  you?  " 

"  Sweet  my  lord,  it  liketh  me  beyond  telling,  thy  roan 
is  a  peerless  beast !  "  sighed  Sir  Jocelyn,  and  so  fell  once 
more  to  humming  his  song  beneath  his  breath. 

Now  Beltane  had  wrestled  oft  with  strangers  in  the 
greenwood  and  had  learned  many  cunning  and  desperate 
holds;  moreover,  he  had  learned  to  bide  his  time;  thus, 
though  Gefroi's  iron  muscles  yet  pinned  his  arms,  he 
waited,  calm-eyed  but  with  every  nerve  a-quiver,  for  that 
moment  when  Gefroi's  vicious  grip  should  slacken. 

To  and  fro  the  wrestlers  swayed,  knee  to  knee  and  breast 
to  breast,  fierce  and  silent  and  grim.  As  hath  been  said, 
this  Gefroi  was  a  very  cunning  fellow,  and  once  and  twice, 
he  put  forth  all  his  strength  seeking  to  use  a  certain  cruel 
trick  whereby  many  a  goodly  man  had  died  ere  now ;  but 
once,  and  twice,  the  hold  was  foiled,  yet  feebly  and  as 
though  by  chance,  and  Gefroi  wondered;  a  third  time  he 
essayed  it  therefore,  but,  in  that  moment,  sudden  and  fierce 
and  strong,  Beltane  twisted  in  his  loosened  grasp,  found 
at  last  the  deadly  hold  he  sought,  and  Gefroi  wondered  no 
more,  for  about  him  was  a  painful  grip  that  grew  ever 
tighter  and  more  relentless.  Now  Gefroi's  breath  grew 
short  and  laboured,  the  muscles  stood  out  on  his  writhing 
body  in  knotted  cords,  but  ever  that  cruel  grip  grew  more 
deadly,  crushing  his  spirit  and  robbing  him  of  his  wonted 
strength.  And  those  about  them  watched  that  mighty 
struggle,  hushed  for  wonder  of  it ;  even  Sir  Jocelyn  had 
forgot  his  lock  of  hair,  and  hummed  no  more. 

For,  desperately  though  he  fought  and  struggled,  they 
saw  Gefroi's  great  body  was  bending  slowly  backward ;  his 
eyes  stared  up,  wild  and  bloodshot,  into  the  fierce,  set  face 
above  him ;  swaying  now,  he  saw  the  wide  ring  of  faces,  the 
quiver  of  leaves  and  the  blue  beyond,  all  a-swim  through 
the  mist  of  Beltane's  yellow  hair,  and  then,  writhing  in 
his  anguish,  he  turned  and  buried  his  teeth  in  Beltane's 


20  Beltane  the  Smith 

naked  arm,  and  with  a  cunning  twist,  broke  from  that 
deadly  grip  and  staggered  free. 

Straightway  the  air  was  full  of  shouts  and  cries,  some 
praising,  some  condemning,  while  Gefroi  stood  with  hang- 
ing arms  and  panted.  But  Beltane  looking  upon  his  hurt, 
laughed,  short  and  fierce,  and  as  Gefroi  came  upon  him, 
stooped  and  caught  him  below  the  loins.  Then  Beltane 
the  strong,  the  mighty,  put  forth  his  strength  and,  whirl- 
ing Gefroi  aloft,  hurled  him  backwards  over  his  shoulder. 
So  Gefroi  the  wrestler  fell,  and  lay  with  hairy  arms  wide- 
tossed  as  one  that  is  dead,  and  for  a  space  no  man  spake 
for  the  wonder  of  it. 

"  By  all  the  Saints,  but  'twas  a  mighty  throw ! "  sighed 
Sir  Jocelj^n,  "  though  alack !  sweet  my  lord,  'twould 
almost  seem  my  forester  hath  something  spoiled  thy 
wrestler! " 

"  And  is  the  roan  stallion  thine,"  frowned  the  Duke, 
"  and  to  none  would  I  lose  him  with  a  fairer  grace,  for 
'twas  a  good  bout  as  I  foretold:  yet,  by  the  head  of  St. 
Martin!  meseemeth  yon  carrion  might  have  done  me  bet- 
ter !  "  So  saying,  my  lord  Duke  gave  his  horse  the  spur 
and,  as  he  passed  the  prostrate  form  of  Gefroi,  leaned  him 
down  and  smote  the  wrestler  thrice  with  the  whip  he  held 
and  so  rode  on,  bidding  his  followers  let  him  he. 

But  Sir  Jocelyn  paused  to  look  down  at  Beltane,  who 
was  setting  his  dress  in  order. 

"  Sir  forester,  thou  hast  a  mighty  arm,"  quoth  he,  "  and 
thy  face  liketh  me  well.  Here's  for  thee,"  and  tossing  a 
purse  to  Beltane's  feet,  he  rode  upon  his  way. 

So  the  gay  cavalcade  passed  'neath  the  leafy  arches, 
with  the  jingle  of  bridle  and  stirrup  and  the  sound  of  jest 
and  laughter,  and  was  presently  lost  amid  the  green ;  only 
Gefroi  the  wrestler  lay  there  upon  his  back  and  groaned. 
Then  came  Beltane  and  knelt  and  took  his  heavy  head 
upon  his  knee,  whereat  Gefroi  opened  his  eyes  and  groaned 
again. 

"  Good  fellow,"  said  Beltane,  "  I  had  not  meant  to 
throw  thee  so  heavily  — " 


How  He  Had  Word  with  the  Duke   2  i 

"  Nay,  forester,  would  it  had  been  a  little  harder,  for 
a  ruined  man  am  I  this  day." 

"How  so  —  have  you  not  life?" 

"  I  would  'twere  death.  And  I  bit  you  —  in  the  arm, 
I  mind  me  ?  " 

"  Aye,  'twas  in  the  arm." 

"  For  that  am  I  heartily  sorry,  forester.  But  when  a 
man  seeth  fame  and  fortune  slipping  from  him  —  aye,  and 
his  honour,  I  had  nigh  forgot  that  —  fame  and  fortune 
and  honour,  so  small  a  thing  as  a  bite  may  be  forgiven  ?  " 

"  I  forgive  thee  —  full  and  freely." 

"  Spoke  like  an  honest  forester,"  said  Gefroi,  and 
groaned  again.  "  The  favour  of  a  lord  is  a  slippery 
thing  —  much  like  an  eel  —  quick  to  wriggle  away.  An 
hour  agone  my  lord  Duke  held  me  in  much  esteem,  while 
nov,^''  And  he  struck  me!  On  the  face,  here!"  Slowly 
Gefroi  got  him  upon  his  feet,  and  having  donned  cap  and 
pourpoint,  shook  his  head  and  sighed;  quoth  he: 

"  Alack !  'tis  a  ruined  man  am  I  this  day !  Would  I 
had  broken  thy  neck,  or  thou,  mine  —  and  so,  God  den  to 
3^e,  forester ! "  Then  Gefroi  the  wrestler  turned  and 
plodded  on  his  way,  walking  slow  and  with  drooping  head 
as  one  who  knoweth  not  whither  he  goes,  or  careth.  Now, 
as  he  watched,  Beltane  bethought  him  of  the  purse  and 
taking  it  up,  ran  after  Gefroi  and  thrust  it  into  his  hand. 

"  'Twill  help  thee  to  find  a  new  service,  mayhap."  So 
saying  my  Beltane  turned  upon  his  heel  and  strode  away, 
while  Gefroi  stood  staring  wide-eyed  long  after  Beltane 
was  vanished  amid  the  trees. 

So  thus  it  was  that  Beltane  looked  his  first  upon  Duke 
Ivo  of  Pentavalon,  and  thus  did  he  overthrow  Gefroi  the 
famous  wrestler.  And  because  of  this,  many  were  they, 
knights  and  nobles  and  esquires,  who  sought  out  Beltane's 
lonely  hut  beside  the  brook,  with  offers  of  service,  or  to 
try  a  fall  with  him.  But  at  their  offers  Beltane  laughed 
and  shook  his  head,  and  all  who  came  to  wrestle  he  threw 
upon  their  backs.  And  thus  my  Beltane  dwelt  within  the 
greenwood,  waxing  mightier  day  by  day. 


CHAPTER  III 

HOW  LOVE  CAME  TO  BELTANE  IN  THE  GEEENWOOD 

Upon  a  day  Beltane  stood  at  his  forge  fashioning  an  axe- 
head.  And,  having  tempered  it  thereafter  in  the  brook, 
he  laid  it  by,  and  straightening  his  back,  strode  forth  into 
the  glade  all  ignorant  of  the  eyes  that  watched  him  curi- 
ously through  the  leaves.  And  presently  as  he  stood,  his 
broad  back  set  to  the  bole  of  a  tree,  his  blue  eyes  lifted 
heavenwards  brimful  of  dreams,  he  brake  forth  into  a  song 
he  had  made,  lying  sleepless  upon  his  bed  to  do  it. 

Tall  and  stately  were  the  trees,  towering  aloft,  nodding 
slumberously  in  the  gentle  wind;  fair  were  the  flowers 
lifting  glad  faces  to  their  sun-father  and  filling  the  air  with 
their  languorous  perfume ;  yet  naught  was  there  so  comely 
to  look  upon  as  Beltane  the  Smith,  standing  bare-armed  in 
his  might,  his  golden  hair  crisp-curled  and  his  lifted  eyes 
a-dream.  Merrily  the  brook  laughed  and  sang  among  the 
willows,  leaping  in  rainbow-hues  over  its  pebbly  bed ;  sweet 
piped  the  birds  in  brake  and  thicket,  yet  of  all  their  music 
none  was  there  so  good  to  hear  as  the  rich  tones  of  Beltane 
the  Smith. 

So  thought  the  Duchess  Helen  of  Mortain  where  she  sat 
upon  her  white  palfrey  screened  by  the  thick-budded  foli- 
age, seeing  nought  but  this  golden-locked  singer  whose 
voice  thrilled  strangely  in  her  ears.  And  who  so  good  a 
judge  as  Helen  the  Beautiful,  whose  lovers  were  beyond 
count,  knights  and  nobles  and  princelings,  ever  kneeling  at 
her  haughty  feet,  ever  sighing  forth  vows  of  service  and 
adoration,  in  whose  honour  many  a  stout  lance  had 
shivered,  and  many  a  knightly  act  been  wrought?  Where- 
fore I  say,  who  so  good  a  judge  as  the  Duchess  Helen  of 
Mortain.?*     Thus  Beltane  the  maker  of  verses,  all  ignorant 


How  Love  Came  to  Beltane      23 

that  any  heard  save  the  birds  In  the  brake,  sang  of  the 
glories  of  the  forest-lands.  Sang  how  the  flowers,  feeling 
the  first  sweet  promise  of  spring  stirring  within  them, 
awoke ;  and  lo !  the  frost  was  gone,  the  warm  sun  they  had 
dreamed  of  through  the  long  winter  was  come  back,  the 
time  of  their  waiting  passed  away.  So,  timidly,  slowly, 
they  stole  forth  from  the  dark,  unveiling  their  beauties 
to  their  lord  the  sun  and  filling  the  world  with  the  fra- 
grance of  their  worship. 

Somewhat  of  all  this  sang  Beltane,  whiles  the  Duchess 
Helen  gazed  upon  him  wide-eyed  and  wondering. 

Could  this  be  Beltane  the  Smith,  this  tall,  gentle-eyed 
youth,  this  soft-voiced  singer  of  dreams?  Could  this  in- 
deed be  the  mighty  wrestler  of  whom  she  had  heard  so 
many  tales  of  late,  how  that  he  lived  an  anchorite,  deep 
hidden  in  the  green,  hating  the  pomp  and  turmoil  of  cities, 
and  contemning  women  and  all  their  ways.^* 

Now,  bethinking  her  of  all  this,  the  Duchess  frowned 
for  that  he  was  such  a  goodly  man  and  so  comely  to  look 
on,  and  frowning,  mused,  white  chin  on  white  fist.  Then 
she  smiled,  as  one  that  hath  a  bright  thought,  and  straight- 
way loosed  the  golden  fillet  that  bound  her  glowing  tresses 
so  that  they  fell  about  her  in  all  their  glory,  rippling  far 
down  her  broidered  habit.  Then,  the  song  being  ended, 
forth  from  her  cover  rode  the  lady  of  Mortain,  and  coming 
close  where  Beltane  leaned  him  in  the  shade  of  the  tree, 
paused  of  a  sudden,  and  started  as  one  that  is  surprised, 
and  Beltane  turning,  found  her  beside  him,  yet  spake  not 
nor  moved. 

Breathless  and  as  one  entranced  he  gazed  upon  her;  saw 
how  her  long  hair  glowed  a  wondrous  red  'neath  the  kisses 
of  the  dying  sun ;  saw  how  her  purpled  gown,  belted  at 
the  slender  waist,  clung  about  the  beauties  of  her  shapely 
body ;  saw  how  the  little  shoe  peeped  forth  from  the  per- 
fumed mystery  of  its  folds,  and  so  stood  speechless,  bound 
by  the  spell  of  her  beauty.  Wherefore,  at  length,  she 
spake  to  him,  low  and  sweet  and  humble,  on  this  wise: 

"  Art  thou  he  whom  men  call  Beltane  the  Smith?  " 


24  Beltane  the  Smith 

He  answered,  gazing  at  her  lowered  lashes : 

"  I  am  Beltane  the  Smith." 

For  a  space  she  sat  grave  and  silent,  then  looked  at  him 
with  eyes  that  laughed  'neath  level  brows  to  see  the  wonder 
in  his  gaze.  But  anon  she  falls  a-sighing,  and  braided  a 
tress  of  hair  'twixt  white  fingers  ere  she  spoke : 

"  'Tis  said  of  thee  that  thou  art  a  hermit  and  live  alone 
within  these  solitudes.  And  yet  —  meseemeth  —  thine 
eyes  are  not  a  hermit's  eyes,  messire !  " 

Quoth  Beltane,  with  flushing  cheek  and  eyes  abased : 

"  Yet  do  I  live  alone,  lady." 

*'  Nor  are  thy  ways  and  speech  the  ways  of  common 
smith,  messire." 

"  Yet  smith  am  I  in  sooth,  lady,  and  therewithal  con- 
tent." 

Now  did  she  look  on  him  'neath  drooping  lash,  sweet- 
eyed  and  languorous,  and  shook  her  head,  and  sighed. 

"  Alas,  messire,  methinks  then  perchance  it  may  be  true 
that  thou,  for  all  thy  youth,  and  despite  thine  eyes,  art  a 
mocker  of  love,  a  despiser  of  women?  And  yet  —  nay  — 
sure  'tis  not  so?  " 

Then  did  Beltane  the  strong  come  nigh  to  fear,  by  rea- 
son of  her  fair  womanhood,  and  looked  from  her  to  earth, 
from  earth  to  sky,  and,  when  he  would  have  answered,  fell 
a-stammering,  abashed  by  her  wondrous  beauty. 

"  Nay  lady,  indeed  —  indeed  I  know  of  women 
nought  —  nought  of  myself,  but  I  have  heard  tell  that 
they  be  —  light-minded,  using  their  beauty  but  to  lure  the 
souls  of  men  from  high  and  noble  things  —  making  of  love 
a  jest  —  a  sport  and  pastime — " 

But  now  the  Duchess  laughed,  very  soft  and  sweeter, 
far,  to  Beltane's  thinking  than  the  rippling  music  of  any 
brook,  soever. 

"  Aye  me,  messire  anchorite,"  said  she  smiling  yet, 
*'whence  had  you  this  poor  folly?  " 

Quoth  Beltane  gravely: 

"  Lady,  'twas  from  one  beyond  all  thought  wise  and 
learned.     A  most  hol}^  hermit  — " 


How  Love  Came  to  Beltane     25 

*'  A  hermit ! "  says  she,  merry-eyed,  "  then,  an  he 
told  thee  this,  needs  must  he  be  old,  and  cold,  and  withered, 
and  beyond  the  age  of  love,  knowing  nought  of  women 
save  what  memory  doth  haunt  his  evil  past.  But  young 
art  thou  and  strong,  and  should  love  come  to  thee  —  as 
come,  methinks,  it  may,  hearken  to  no  voice  but  the  plead- 
ing of  thine  own  true  heart.  Messire,"  she  sighed,  "  art 
very  blind,  methinks,  for  you  sing  the  wonders  of  these 
forest-lands,  yet  in  thy  song  is  never  a  word  of  love !  O 
blind !  O  blind !  for  I  tell  thee  nought  exists  in  this 
great  world  but  by  love.  Behold  now,  these  sighing  trees 
love  their  lord  the  sun,  and,  through  the  drear  winter, 
wait  his  coming  with  wide-stretched,  yearning  arms,  cry- 
ing aloud  to  him  in  every  shuddering  blast  the  tale  of  their 
great  longing.  And,  after  some  while,  he  comes,  and  at 
his  advent  they  clothe  themselves  anew  in  all  their  beauty, 
and  with  his  warm  breath  thrilling  through  each  fibre,  put 
forth  their  buds,  singing  through  all  their  myriad  leaves 
the  song  of  their  rejoicing.  Something  the  like  of  this, 
messire,  is  the  love  a  woman  beareth  to  a  man,  the  which, 
until  he  hath  felt  it  trembling  in  his  heart,  he  hath  not 
known  the  joy  of  living." 

But  Beltane  answered,  smiling  a  little  as  one  that  gloried 
in  his  freedom : 

"  No  woman  hath  ever  touched  my  heart,  yet  have  I 
lived  nor  found  it  lonely,  hitherto." 

But  hereupon,  resting  her  white  fingers  on  his  arm,  she 
leaned  nearer  to  him  so  that  he  felt  her  breath  warm  upon 
his  cheek,  and  there  stole  to  him  the  faint,  sweet  perfume 
of  her  hair. 

"  Beware,  O  scorner  of  women !  for  I  tell  thee  that  ere 
much  time  hath  passed  thou  shalt  know  love  —  aye,  in 
such  fashion  as  few  men  know  —  wherefore  I  say  —  be- 
ware. Beltane !  " 

But  Beltane  the  strong,  the  mighty,  shook  his  head  and 
smiled. 

"  Nay,"  quoth  he,  "  a  man's  heart  may  be  set  on  other 
things,  flowers  may  seem  to  him  fairer  than  the  fairest 


2  6  Beltane  the  Smith 

women,  and  the  wind  in  trees  sweeter  to  him  than  their 
voices." 

Now  as  she  hearkened,  the  Duchess  Helen  grew  angry, 
yet  straightway,  she  dissembled,  looking  upon  him  'neath 
drooping  lashes.  Soft  and  tender-eyed  and  sighing,  she 
answered : 

"  Ah,  Beltane !  how  unworthy  are  such  things  of  a  man's 
love !  For  if  he  pluck  them,  that  he  may  lay  these  flowers 
upon  his  heart,  lo !  they  fade  and  wither,  and  their  beauty 
and  fragrance  is  but  a  memory.  Ah,  Beltane,  when  next 
ye  sing,  choose  you  a  worthier  theme." 

"  Of  what  shall  I  sing?  "  said  Beltane. 

Very  soft  she  answered,  and  with  eyes  abased: 

*'  Think  on  what  I  have  told  thee,  and  sing  —  of  love." 

And  so  she  sighed,  and  looked  on  him  once,  then  wheeled 
her  palfrey,  and  was  gone  up  the  glade ;  but  Beltane,  as  he 
watched  her  go,  was  seized  of  a  sudden  impulse  and  over- 
took her,  running. 

"  Beseech  thee,"  cried  he,  barring  her  path,  "  tell  me 
thy  name !  " 

Then  Helen  the  Beautiful,  the  wilful,  laughed  and 
swerved  her  palfrey,  minded  to  leave  him  so ;  but  Beltane 
sprang  and  caught  the  bridle. 

"  Tell  me  thy  name,"  said  he  again. 

**  Let  me  go !  " 

"  Thy  name,  tell  me  thy  name." 

But  the  Duchess  laughed  again,  and  thinking  to  escape 
him,  smote  her  horse  so  that  it  started  and  reared;  once 
it  plunged,  and  twice,  and  so  stood  trembling  with  Bel- 
tane's hand  upon  the  bridle;  wherefore  a  sudden  anger 
came  upon  her,  and,  bending  her  black  brows,  she  raised 
her  jewelled  riding- rod  threateningly.  But  Beltane  only 
smiled  and  shook  his  head,  saying: 

"  Unless  I  know  thy  name  thou  shalt  not  fare  forth  of 
the  greenwood." 

So  the  proud  lady  of  Mortain  looked  down  upon  Beltane 
in  amaze,  for  there  was  none  in  all  the  Duchy,  knight,  noble 
or  princeling,  who  dared  gainsay  her  lightest  word ;  where- 


How  Love  Came  to  Beltane      2^ 

fore,  I  say,  she  stared  upon  this  bold  forest  knave  with  his 
golden  hair  and  gentle  eyes,  his  curved  lips  and  square 
chin;  and  in  eyes  and  mouth  and  chin  was  a  look  of 
masterfulness,  challenging,  commanding.  And,  meeting 
that  look,  her  heart  leapt  most  strangely  with  sudden, 
sweet  thrill,  so  that  she  lowered  her  gaze  lest  he  should 
see,  and  when  she  spake  her  voice  was  low  and  very  sweet : 

"  Tell  me  I  pray,  why  seek  you  my  name,  and  where- 
fore?" 

Quoth  Beltane,  soft  and  slow  as  one  that  dreams: 

"  I  have  seen  thine  eyes  look  at  me  from  the  flowers,  ere 
now,  have  heard  thy  laughter  in  the  brook,  and  found  thy 
beauty  in  all  fair  things:  methinks  thy  name  should  be  a 
most  sweet  name." 

Now  was  it  upon  her  lips  to  tell  him  what  he  asked,  but, 
being  a  woman,  she  held  her  peace  for  very  contrariness, 
and  blushing  beneath  his  gaze,  looked  down  and  cried 
aloud,  and  pointed  to  a  grub  that  crawled  upon  her  habit. 
So  Beltane  loosed  the  bridle,  and  in  that  moment,  she 
laughed  for  very  triumph  and  was  off,  galloping  'neath 
the  trees.  Yet,  as  she  went,  she  turned  and  called  to  him, 
and  the  word  she  called  was :  ;■=! 

"Helen!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

OF  THE  L.OVE  AND   THE  GRIEF  OF  HELEN   THE  PROUD 

Long  stood  Beltane  where  she  had  left  him,  the  soft 
shadows  of  night  deepening  about  him,  dreaming  ever  of 
her  beauty,  of  her  wondrous  hair,  and  of  the  little  foot 
that  had  peeped  forth  at  him  'neath  her  habit,  and,  full 
of  these  thoughts,  for  once  he  was  deaf  to  the  soft  voices 
of  the  trees  nor  heard  the  merry  chatter  of  the  brook. 
But  later,  upon  his  bed  he  lay  awake  full  long' and  must 
needs  remember  yet  another  Helen,  with  the  same  wondrous 
hair  and  eyes  of  mystery,  for  whose  sake  men  had  died 
and  a  noble  city  burned;  and,  hereupon,  his  heart  grew 
strangely  heavy  and  cold  with  an  unknown  dread. 

Days  came  and  went,  and  labouring  at  the  forge  or  lying 
out  in  the  sunshine  gazing  wistfully  beyond  the  swaying 
tree-tops,  Beltane  would  oft  start  and  turn  his  head,  fancy- 
ing the  rustle  of  her  garments  in  his  ears,  or  her  voice 
calling  to  him  from  some  flowery  thicket ;  and  the  wind  in 
the  trees  whispered  "  Helen ! "  and  the  brook  sang  of 
Helen,  and  Helen  was  in  his  thoughts  continually. 

Thus  my  Beltane  forgot  his  loves  the  flowers,  and  sang 
no  more  the  wonders  of  the  forest-lands. 

And  oft-times  the  Duchess,  seated  in  state  within  her 
great  hall  of  Mortain  looking  down  upon  her  knights  and 
nobles,  would  sigh,  for  none  was  there  so  noble  of  form  nor 
so  comely  as  Beltane  the  Smith.  Hereupon  her  white 
brow  would  grow  troubled  and,  turning  from  them  all, 
she  would  gaze  with  deep,  unfathomable  eyes,  away  across 
the  valley  to  where,  amid  the  mystery  of  the  trees.  Beltane 
had  his  lonely  dwelling. 

Wherefore  it  was,  that,  looking  up  one  evening  from 


of  the  Love  and  Grief  of  Helen    29 

where  he  sat  busied  with  brush  and  colours  upon  a  border 
of  wondrous  design,  Beltane  beheld  her  of  whom  he  was 
dreaming;  and  she,  standing  tall  and  fair  before  him,  saw 
that  in  his  look  the  which  set  her  heart  a-fluttering  at  her 
white  breast  most  strangely;  yet,  fearing  she  should  be- 
tray aught  of  it,  she  laughed  gaily  and  mocked  him,  as  is 
the  way  of  women,  saying: 

"  Well,  thou  despiser  of  Love,  I  hearkened  vainly  for  thy 
new  song  as  I  rode  hither  through  the  green." 

Red  grew  my  Beltane's  cheek  and  he  looked  not  to  her 
as  he  answered: 

"  Lady,  I  have  no  new  song." 

"  Why  then,  is  thy  lesson  yet  unlearned  ?  "  said  she. 
*'  Have  ye  no  love  but  for  birds  and  flowers  ?  "  and  her 
red  lip  curled  scornfully. 

Quoth  Beltane : 

"  Is  there  aught  more  worthy?  " 

"  O  Beltane !  "  she  sighed,  "  art  then  so  simple  that 
such  will  aye  content  thee;  doth  not  thy  heart  hunger 
and  cry  within  thee  for  aught  beside?" 

Then  Beltane  bowed  his  head,  and  fumbled  with  his 
'brush  and  dropped  it,  and  ere  he  could  reach  it  she  had 
set  her  foot  upon  it;  thus  it  chanced  that  his  hand  came 
upon  her  foot,  and  feeling  it  beneath  his  fingers,  he  started 
and  drew  away,  whereat  she  laughed  low  and  sweet,  saying : 

"  Alack,  and  doth  my  foot  affright  thee  ?  And  yet  'tis 
none  so  fierce  and  none  so  large  that  thou  shouldst  fear  it 
thus,  messire  —  thou  who  art  so  tall  and  strong,  and  a 
mighty  wrestler  withal !  " 

Now,  looking  up,  he  saw  her  lips  curved  and  scarlet, 
and  her  eyes  brimful  of  laughter,  and  fain  would  he  have 
taken  up  the  brush  yet  dared  not.  Therefore,  very  hum- 
bly, she  stooped  and  lifting  the  brush  put  it  in  his  hand. 
Then,  trembling  'neath  the  touch  of  her  soft  fingers,  Bel- 
tane rose  up,  and  that  which  he  had  hidden  deep  within 
his  heart  brake  from  him. 

"  Helen !  "  he  whispered,  "  O  Helen,  thou  art  so  won- 
drous fair  and  behke  of  high  estate,  but  as  for  me,  I  am 


30  Beltane  the  Smith 

but  what  I  am.  Behold  me,"  he  cried,  stretching  wide  his 
arms,  "  I  am  but  Beltane  the  Smith ;  who  is  there  to  love 
such  as  I?  See,  my  hands  be  hard  and  rough,  and  would 
but  bruise  where  they  should  caress,  these  arms  be  un- 
fitted for  soft  embracements.  O  lady,  who  is  there  to 
love  Beltane  the  Smith?  " 

Now  the  Duchess  Helen  laughed  within  herself  for  very 
triumph,  yet  her  bosom  thrilled  and  hurried  with  her 
breathing,  her  cheek  grew  red  and  her  eyes  bright  and 
tender,  wherefore  she  stooped  low  to  cull  a  flower  ere  she 
answered. 

"  Beltane,"  she  sighed,  "  Beltane,  women  are  not  as 
thy  flowers,  that  embraces,  even  such  as  thine,  would  crush 
them." 

But  Beltane  stooped  his  head  that  he  might  not  behold 
the  lure  and  beauty  of  her,  and  clenched  his  hands  hard 
and  fierce  and  thereafter  spake: 

"  Thou  art  so  wondrous  fair,"  said  he  again,  "  and  be- 
like of  noble  birth,  but  —  as  for  me,  I  am  a  smith  !  " 

Awhile  she  stood,  turning  the  flower  in  gentle  fingers 
yet  looking  upon  him  in  his  might  and  goodly  youth,  be- 
holding his  averted  face  with  its  strong,  sweet  mouth  and 
masterful  chin,  its  curved  nostrils  and  the  dreaming  pas- 
sion of  his  eyes,  and  when  she  spake  her  voice  was  soft 
and  very  sweet. 

"  Above  all,  thou  art  —  a  man,  messire !  " 

Then  did  my  Beltane  lift  his  head  and  saw  how  the 
colour  was  deepened  in  her  cheek  and  how  her  tender  eyes 
drooped  before  his. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  is  there  ever  a  woman  to  love 
such  a  man?  Is  there  ever  a  woman  who  would  leave  the 
hum  and  glitter  of  cities  to  walk  with  such  as  I  in  the 
shadow  of  these  forest-lands?  Speak,  Oh  speak  I  do  be- 
seech thee ! "  Thus  said  he  and  stopped,  waiting  her 
answer. 

"  Nay,  Beltane,"  she  whispered,  "  let  thine  own  heart 
speak  me  this." 

All  blithe  and  glorious  grew  the  world  about  him  as  he 


of  the  Love  and  Grief  of  Helen    3 1 

stooped  and  caught  her  In  his  arms,  lifting  her  high  against 
his  heart.  And,  in  this  moment,  he  forgot  the  teaching  of 
Ambrose  the  Hermit,  forgot  all  things  under  heaven,  save 
the  glory  of  her  beauty,  the  drooping  languor  of  her  eyes 
and  the  sweet,  moist  tremor  of  her  mouth.  And  so  he 
kissed  her,  murmuring  'twixt  his  kisses: 

"  Fairer  art  thou  than  all  the  flowers,  O  my  love,  and 
sweeter  thy  breath  than  the  breath  of  flowers !  " 

Thus  Helen  the  Proud,  the  Beautiful,  yielded  her  lips 
to  his,  and  in  all  the  world  for  her  was  nought  save  the 
deep,  soft  voice  of  Beltane,  and  his  eyes,  and  the  new, 
sweet  ecstasy  that  thrilled  within  her.  Surely  nowhere  in 
all  the  world  was  there  such  another  man  as  this,  so  strong 
and  gentle,  so  meet  for  love  and  yet  so  virginal.  Surely 
life  might  be  very  fair  here  in  the  green  solitudes,  aye, 
surely,  surely  — 

Soft  with  distance  came  the  peal  of  bells,  stealing  across 
the  valley  from  the  great  minster  in  Mortain,  and,  with 
the  sound,  memory  waked,  and  she  bethought  her  of  all 
those  knights  and  nobles  who  lived  but  to  do  her  will  and 
pleasure,  of  Mortain  and  the  glory  of  it ;  and  so  she  sighed 
and  stirred,  and,  looking  at  Beltane,  sighed  again.  Quoth 
she: 

"  Is  this  great  love  I  foretold  come  upon  thee.  Beltane.''  " 

And  Beltane  answered: 

"  Truly  a  man  hath  not  lived  until  he  hath  felt  a 
woman's  kisses  upon  his  lips ! " 

"  And  thou  wilt  iSout  poor  Love  no  more?  " 

"  Nay,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "  'tis  part  of  me,  and 
must  be  so  henceforth  —  forever !  " 

But  now  she  sighed  again,  and  trembled  in  his  arms 
and  clasped  him  close,  as  one  beset  by  sudden  fear,  while 
ever  soft  with  distance  came  the  silvery  voices  of  the  bells, 
low  yet  insistent,  sweet  yet  commanding;  wherefore  she, 
sighing,  put  him  from  her. 

"  Why  then,"  said  she,  with  drooping  head,  "  fare 
thee  well,  messire.  Nay,  see  you  not  ?  Methinks  my  task 
is  done.     And  it  hath  been  a  —  pleasing  task,  this  —  of 


3  2  Beltane  the  Smith 

teaching  thee  to  love  —  O,  would  you  had  not  learned  so 
soon !     Fare  thee  well,  Beltane !  " 

But  Beltane  looked  upon  her  as  one  in  deep  amaze,  his 
arms  fell  from  her  and  he  stepped  back  and  so  stood  very 
still  and,  as  he  gazed,  a  growing  horror  dawned  within  his 
eyes. 

"  What  art  thou  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Nay,  Beltane,"  she  murmured,  "  ah  —  look  not  so !  " 

"  Who  art  thou  —  and  what?  "  he  said. 

"  Nay,  did  I  not  tell  thee  at  the  first  ?  I  am  Helen  — 
hast  thou  not  known?     I  am  Helen  —  Helen  of  Mortain." 

"Thou  —  thou  art  the  Duchess  Helen?"  said  Beltane 
with  stiffening  lips,  "  thou  the  Duchess  and  I  —  a  smith !  " 
and  he  laughed,  short  and  fierce,  and  would  have  turned 
from  her  but  she  stayed  him  with  quivering  hands. 

"And  —  did'st  not  know?"  she  questioned  hurriedly, 
"  methought  it  was  no  secret  —  I  would  have  told  thee 
ere  this  had  I  known.  Nay  —  look  not  so.  Beltane  — 
thou  dost  love  me  yet  —  nay,  I  do  know  it !  "  and  she 
strove  to  smile,  but  with  lips  that  quivered  strangely. 

"  Aye,  I  love  thee,  Helen  of  Mortain  —  though  there 
be  many  fair  lords  to  do  that !  But,  as  for  me  —  I  am 
onl}^  a  smith,  and  as  a  smith  greatly  would  I  despise  thee. 
Yet  may  this  not  be,  for  as  my  body  is  great,  so  is  my 
love.  Go,  therefore,  thy  work  here  is  done,  go  —  get 
thee  to  thy  knightly  lovers,  wed  this  Duke  who  seeks 
thee  —  do  aught  you  will  but  go,  leave  me  to  my  hammers 
and  these  green  solitudes." 

So  spake  he,  and  turning,  strode  away,  looking  not 
back  to  where  she  stood  leaning  one  white  hand  against  a 
tree.  Once  she  called  to  him  but  he  heeded  not,  walking 
ever  with  bowed  head  and  hearing  only  the  tumult  within 
him  and  the  throbbing  of  his  wounded  heart.  And  now, 
in  his  pain  needs  must  he  think  of  yet  another  Helen  and 
of  the  blood  and  agony  of  blazing  Troy  town,  and  lifting 
up  his  hands  to  heaven  he  cried  aloud : 

"  Alas !  that  one  so  fair  should  be  a  thing  so  evil !  " 

All  in  haste  Beltane  came  to  his  lonely  hut  and  taking 


of  the  Love  and  Grief  of  Helen    33 

thence  his  cloak  and  great  sword,  he  seized  upon  his 
mightiest  hammer  and  beat  down  the  roof  of  the  hut  and 
drave  in  the  walls  of  it ;  thereafter  he  hove  the  hammer 
into  the  pool,  together  with  his  anvil  and  rack  of  tools 
and  so,  setting  the  sword  in  his  girdle  and  the  cloak  about 
him,  turned  away  and  plunged  into  the  deeper  shadows 
of  the  forest. 

But,  ever  soft  and  faint  with  distance,  the  silvery  voices 
of  the  bells  stole  upon  the  warm,  stilly  air,  speaking  of 
pomp  and  state,  of  pride  and  circumstance,  but  now  these 
seemed  but  empty  things,  and  the  Duchess  Helen  stood 
long  with  bent  head  and  hands  that  strove  to  shut  the 
sounds  away.  But  in  the  end  she  turned,  slow-footed  amid 
the  gathering  shadows  and  followed  whither  they 
called. 


But  that  night,  sitting  in  state  within  her  great  hall 
of  Mortain,  the  Duchess  Helen  sighed  deep  and  oft,  scarce 
heeding  the  courtesies  addressed  to  her  and  little  the  whis- 
pered homage  of  her  guest  Duke  Ivo,  he,  the  proudest  and 
most  potent  of  all  her  many  wooers;  yet  to-night  her 
cheek  burned  beneath  his  close  regard  and  her  woman's 
flesh  rebelled  at  his  contact  as  had  never  been  aforetime. 
Thus,  of  a  sudden,  though  the  meal  was  scarce  begun,  she 
arose  and  stepped  down  from  the  dais,  and  when  her 
wondering  ladies  would  have  followed  forbade  them  with 
a  gesture.  And  so,  walking  proud  and  tall,  she  passed 
out  before  them,  whereat  Duke  Ivo's  blai^k  brow  grew  the 
blacker,  and  he  stared  before  him  with  narrowed  eyes,  be- 
holding which,  the  faces  of  my  lady's  counsellors  waxed 
anxious  and  long;  only  Winfrida,  chief  est  of  the  ladies, 
watched  the  Duke  'neath  drooping  lids  and  with  a  smile 
upon  her  full,  red  lips. 

Now  the  Duchess,  being  come  to  her  chamber,  lifted 
her  hands  and  tore  the  ducal  circlet  from  her  brow  and 
cast  it  from  her,  and,  thereafter,  laid  by  her  rings  and 
jewels,  and  coming  to  the  open  casement  fell  there  upon 


34  Beltane  the  Smith 

her  knees  and  reached  forth  her  pale  hands  to  where,  across 
the  valley,  the  dark  forest  stretched  away,  ghostly  and  un- 
real, 'neath  the  moon. 

"  My  beloved !  "  she  whispered,  "  O  my  beloved !  "  And 
the  gentle  night-wind  bore  her  secret  in  its  embrace  away 
across  the  valley  to  the  dim  solitudes  of  the  woods.  "  Bel- 
tane !  "  she  sighed,  "  love  hath  come  into  mine  heart  even 
as  it  came  to  thee,  when  I  recked  not  of  it.  My  beloved  — 
O  my  beloved !  "  Anon  she  rose  and  stood  awhile  with 
head  bowed  as  one  that  dreams,  and  of  a  sudden  her  cheek 
glowed  warmly  red,  her  breath  caught  and  she  gazed 
upon  the  moon  with  eyes  of  yearning  tenderness ;  there- 
after she  laughed,  soft  and  happily  and,  snatching  up  a 
cloak,  set  it  about  her  and  fled  from  the  chamber.  So, 
swift  and  light  of  foot,  she  sped  by  hidden  ways  until  she 
came  where  old  Godric,  her  chief  huntsman,  busied  himself 
trimming  the  shaft  of  a  boar-spear,  who,  beholding  his 
lady,  rose  up  in  amaze. 

"  Godric,"  said  she,  white  hands  upon  his  arm,  "  thou 
didst  love  me  or  ever  I  could  walk.''  " 

"  Aye,  verily  thou  hast  said,  dear  my  lady." 

*'  Love  you  me  yet?  " 

*'  Truly  thou  knowest  that  I  love  thee." 
'  "  Thou  hast  heard,  Godric,  how  that  my  counsellors  have 
long  desired  me  to  wed  with  Duke  Ivo,  and  do  yet  await 
my  answer  to  his  suit  —  nay  hearken !  So  to-night  shall 
my  mind  be  known  in  the  matter  once  and  for  all !  Come, 
my  Godric,  arm  you  and  saddle  two  horses  —  come !  " 

"  Nay,  sweet  my  lady,  what  would  ye?  " 

''  Fly  hence  with  thee,  my  Godric !  Come  —  the 
horses ! " 

"  Fly  from  Mortain,  and  thou  the  Duchess  ?  Nay,  dear 
lady,  'tis  madness,  bethink  thee !  O  dear  my  Mistress  —  O 
little  Helen  that  I  have  cherished  all  thj  days,  bethink 
thee  —  do  not  this  thing  — " 

"  Godric,  did  not  the  Duke,  my  father,  strictly  charge 
thee  to  follow  ever  my  call?  " 

"  Aye,  my  lady." 


of  the  Love  and  Grief  of  Helen    35 

"  Then  follow  now !  "  And  so  she  turned  and  beckoned, 
and  Godric  perforce  followed  after. 

Hand  in  hand  they  went  a-down  the  windmg  stair,  down 
to  the  great,  dim  courtyard  that  whispered  to  their  tread. 
And,  thereafter,  mounting  in  haste,  the  Duchess  galloped 
from  Mortain,  unheeding  stern  old  Godric  by  her  side  and 
with  never  a  look  behind,  dreaming  ever  of  Beltane  with 
cheeks  that  crimsoned  'neath  her  hood. 

Fast  and  faster  she  rode  'neath  the  pale  moon,  her  eyes 
ever  gazing  towards  the  gloom  of  the  forest,  her  heart 
throbbing  quick  as  the  hoof-beats  of  her  horse.  So  at 
last,  being  come  to  that  glade  whereby  Beltane  had  his 
dwelling,  she  lighted  down,  and  bidding  Godric  wait,  stole 
forward  alone. 

Autumn  was  at  hand,  and  here  and  there  the  fallen 
leaves  rustled  sadly  under  foot  while  the  trees  sighed  and 
mourned  together  for  that  the  flowers  so  soon  must  wither 
and  die.  But  in  the  heart  of  the  Duchess  Helen,  Spring 
was  come,  and  all  things  spake  to  her  of  coming  joys  un- 
dreamed till  now  as  she  hasted  on,  flitting  through  the 
pallid  moonbeams  that,  falling  athwart  rugged  bole  and 
far-flung  branch,  splashed  the  gloom  with  radiant  light. 
Once  she  paused  to  listen,  but  heard  nought  save  the  mur- 
mur of  the  brook  and  the  faint  stirring  of  leaves.  And 
now,  clear  and  strong  the  tender  radiance  fell  athwart  the 
lonely  habitation  and  her  heart  leapt  at  the  sight,  her 
eyes  grew  moist  and  tender  and  she  hurried  forward  with 
flying  steps,  then  —  beholding  the  ruin  of  thatch  and  wall, 
she  stopped  and  stood  aghast,  gazing  wide-eyed  and  with 
her  heart  numb  in  her  bosom.  Then  she  shivered,  her 
proud  head  drooped  and  a  great  sob  brake  from  her, 
for  that  she  knew  she  was  come  too  late,  her  dreams 
of  wandering  with  Beltane  through  sunny  glades  were 
nought  but  dreams  after  all.  Beltane  the  Smith  was 
gone! 

Then  a  great  loneliness  and  desolation  came  upon  her 
and,  sinking  down  at  the  foot  of  that  tree  whereby  he  had 
been  wont  to  lean  so  often,  her  yearning  arms  crept  about 


36  Beltane  the  Smith 

its  rugged  bole  and  she  lay  there  in  the  passion  of  her 
grief  weeping  long  and  bitterly. 

But  the  gentle  trees  ceased  mourning  over  their  own 
coming  sorrow  in  wonder  at  the  sight,  and  bending  their 
heads  together,  seemed  to  whisper  one  to  the  other  saying: 

*'  He  is  gone,  Beltane  the  Smith  is  gone !  " 


CHAPTER  V 

WHICH  TELLS  OF  THE  STORY  OF  AMBROSE  THE  HERMIT 

Deep,  deep  within  the  green  twilight  of  the  woods  Ambrose 
the  Hermit  had  builded  him  a  hut ;  had  built  and  framed 
it  of  rude  stones  and  thatched  it  with  grass  and  mosses. 
And  from  the  door  of  the  hut  he  had  formed  likewise  a 
path  strewn  thick  with  jagged  stones  and  sharp  flints,  a 
cruel  track,  the  which,  winding  away  through  the  green, 
led  to  where  upon  a  gentle  eminence  stood  a  wooden  cross 
most  artfully  wrought  and  carven  by  the  hermit's  skilled 
and  loving  fingers. 

Morning  and  evening,  winter  and  summer  it  was  his 
custom  ever  to  tread  this  painful  way,  wetting  the  stones 
with  the  blood  of  his  atonement. 

Now  upon  a  certain  rosy  dawn,  ere  yet  the  sun  was  up. 
Beltane  standing  amid  the  leaves,  saw  the  hermit  issue 
forth  of  the  hut  and,  with  bowed  head  and  folded  hands, 
set  out  upon  his  appointed  way.  The  cruel  stones  grew 
red  beneath  his  feet  yet  he  faltered  not  nor  stayed  until, 
being  come  to  the  cross,  he  kneeled  there  and,  with  gaunt 
arms  upraised,  prayed  long  and  fer\'ently  so  that  the  tears 
of  his  passion  streamed  down  his  furrowed  cheeks  and 
wetted  the  snow  of  his  beard. 

In  a  while,  having  made  an  end,  he  arose  and  being 
come  to  his  hut  once  more,  he  of  a  sudden  espied  Beltane 
standing  amid  the  leaves ;  and  because  he  was  so  fair  and 
goodly  to  look  upon  in  his  youth  and  might,  the  pale  cheek 
of  the  hermit  flushed  and  a  glow  leapt  within  his  sunken 
eyes,  and  lifting  up  his  hand,  he  blessed  him. 

"  Welcome  to  this  my  solitude,  my  son,"  quoth  he,  "  and 
wherefore  hast  thou  tarried  in  thy  coming?  I  have 
watched  for  thee  these  man}^  days.     Come,  sit  you  here 


38 


Beltane  the  Smith 


beside  me  in  this  blessed  sun  and  tell  me  of  thy  latter 
doings." 

But  the  eyes  of  Beltane  were  sad  and  his  tongue  un- 
ready, so  that  he  stammered  in  his  speech,  looking  ever 
upon  the  ground;  then,  suddenly  up-starting  to  his  feet, 
he  strode  before  the  hut,  while  Ambrose  the  wise  looked, 
and  saw,  yet  spake  not.  So,  presently,  Beltane  paused, 
and  looking  him  within  the  eyes  spake  hurriedly  on  this 
wise: 

"  Most  holy  father,  thou  knowest  how  I  have  lived 
within  the  greenwood  all  my  days  nor  found  it  lonely,  for 
I  did  love  it  so,  that  I  had  thought  to  die  here  likewise 
when  my  time  should  come.  Yet  now  do  I  know  that  this 
shall  never  be  —  to-day  I  go  hence." 

"  Wherefore,  my  son .''  " 

"  There  is  come  a  strange  restlessness  upon  me,  a  riot 
and  fever  of  the  blood  whereby  I  am  filled  with  dreams  and 
strange  desires.  I  would  go  forth  into  the  great  world 
of  men  and  cities,  to  take  my  rightful  place  therein,  for 
until  a  man  hath  loved  and  joyed  and  sorrowed  with  his 
fellows,  he  knoweth  nought  of  life." 

"  Perchance,  my  son,  this  is  but  the  tide  of  youthful 
blood  that  tingles  in  thy  veins?  Or  is  it  that  thou  hast 
looked  of  late  within  a  woman's  eyes  ?  " 

Then  Beltane  kneeled  him  at  the  feet  of  Ambrose  and 
hid  his  face  betwixt  his  knees,  as  he  had  been  wont  to  do 
whiles  yet  a  little  child. 

"  Father,"  he  murmured,  "  thou  hast  said."  Now  look- 
ing down  upon  this  golden  head,  Ambrose  sighed  and  drew 
the  long  curls  through  his  fingers  with  a  wondrous  gentle- 
ness. 

"  Tell  me  of  thy  love,  Beltane,"  said  he. 

Forthwith,  starting  to  his  feet,  Beltane  answered: 

"  'Tis  many  long  and  weary  months,  my  father,  and  yet 
doth  seem  but  yesterday.  She  came  to  me  riding  upon  a 
milk-white  steed.  At  first  methought  her  of  the  fairy 
kind  thither  drawn  by  my  poor  singing,  yet,  when  I  looked 
on  her  again,  I  knew  her  to  be  woman.     And  she  was  fair  — 


Tells  of  the  Story  of  Ambrose      39 

0  very  fair,  my  father.  I  may  not  tell  her  beauty  for 
'twas  compounded  of  all  beauteous  things,  of  the  snow  of 
lihes,  the  breath  of  flowers,  the  gleam  of  stars  on  moving 
waters,  the  music  of  streams,  the  murmur  of  wind  in 
trees  —  I  cannot  tell  thee  more  but  that  there  is  a  flame 
doth  hide  within  her  hair,  and  for  her  eyes  —  O  methinks 
'tis  for  her  eyes  I  do  love  her  most  —  love  her?  Aye,  my 
body  doth  burn  and  thrill  with  love  —  alas,  poor  fool, 
alas  it  should  be  so!  But,  for  that  she  is  proud  and  of 
an  high  estate,  for  that  I  am  I,  a  poor  worker  of  iron 
whom  men  call  Beltane  the  Smith,  fit  but  to  sigh  and  sigh 
and  forever  sigh,  to  dream  of  her  and  nothing  more  —  so 
must  I  go  hence,  leaving  the  sweet  silence  of  the  woods 
for  the  strife  and  noise  of  cities,  learning  to  share  the 
burdens  of  my  fellows.  See  you  not,  my  father,  see  you 
not  the  way  of  it?"  So  spake  Beltane,  hot  and  pas- 
sionate, striding  to  and  fro  upon  the  sward,  while  Am- 
brose sat  with  bitterness  in  his  heart  but  with  eyes  ineffably 
gentle. 

"  And  is  this  love  of  thine  so  hopeless,  my  Beltane?  " 

"  Beyond  all  thought ;  she  is  the  Duchess  Helen  of  Mor- 
tain ! " 

Now  for  a  while  the  hermit  spake  not,  sitting  chin  in. 
hand  as  one  who  halts  betwixt  two  courses. 

"  'Tis  strange,"  he  said  at  length,  "  and  passing 
strange!  Yet,  since  'tis  she,  and  she  so  much  above  thee, 
wherefore  would  ye  leave  the  tender  twilight  of  these  for- 
ests?" 

Quoth  Beltane,  sighing: 

"  My  father,  I  tell  thee  these  woods  be  full  of  love  and 
her.  She  looketh  at  me  from  the  flowers  and  stealeth  to 
me  in  their  fragrance;  the  very  brooks  do  babble  of  her 
beauty ;  each  leaf  doth  find  a  little  voice  to  whisper  of  her,, 
and  everywhere  is  love  and  love  and  love  —  so  needs  must 

1  away." 

"  And  think  you  so  to  escape  this  love,  my  Beltane,  and 
the  pain  of  it?  " 

"Nay    my    father,   that   were   thing   impossible    for   it 


40  Beltane  the  Smith 

doth  fill  the  universe,  so  must  I  needs  remember  it  with 
every  breath  I  draw,  but  in  the  griefs  and  sorrows  of  others 
I  may,  perchance,  learn  to  bear  mine  own,  silent  and 
patiently,  as  a  man  should." 

Then  Ambrose  sighed,  and  beckoning  Beltane  to  his 
knee,  laid  his  hands  upon  his  shoulders  and  looked  deep 
within  his  eyes. 

"  Beltane  my  son,"  said  he,  "  I  have  known  thee  from 
thy  youth  up  and  well  do  I  know  thou  canst  not  lie,  for 
thy  heart  is  pure  as  yet  and  uncorrupt.  But  now  is  the 
thing  I  feared  come  upon  thee  —  ah,  Beltane,  hast  thou 
forgot  all  I  have  told  thee  of  women  and  the  ways  of 
women,  how  that  their  white  bodies  are  filled  with  all  man- 
ner of  wantonness,  their  hands  strong  in  lures  and  entice- 
ments? A  woman  in  her  beauty  is  a  fair  thing  to  the 
eyes  of  a  man,  yet  I  tell  thee  Beltane,  they  be  snares  of 
the  devil,  setting  father  'gainst  son  and  —  brother  'gainst 
brother,  whereby  come  unnatural  murders  and  bloody 
wars." 

"  And  yet,  needs  must  I  love  her  still,  my  father  I " 

"  Aye,  'tis  so,"  sighed  Ambrose,  "  'tis  ever  so,  and  as 
for  thee,  well  do  I  know  the  blood  within  thee  for  a  hot, 
wild  blood  —  and  thou  art  young,  and  so  it  is  I  fear  for 
thee." 

But,  looking  up.  Beltane  shook  his  head  and  answered: 

"  Holy  father,  thou  art  wise  and  wondrous  learned  in 
the  reading  of  books  and  in  the  ancient  wisdoms  and  phil- 
osophies, yet  methinks  this  love  is  a  thing  no  book  can 
teach  thee,  a  truth  a  man  must  needs  find  out  for  himself." 

"  And  think  you  I  know  nought  of  love.  Beltane,  the 
pain  and  joy  of  it  —  and  the  shame?  Thou  seest  me  a 
poor  old  man  and  feeble,  bent  with  years  and  suffering, 
one  who  but  waiteth  for  the  time  when  my  grievous  sin 
shall  be  atoned  for  and  God,  in  His  sweet  clemency,  shall 
ease  me  of  this  burden  of  life.  Yet  do  I  tell  thee  there 
was  a  time  when  this  frail  body  was  strong  and  tall,  well- 
nigh,  as  thine  own,  when  this  white  hair  was  thick  and 
black,  and  these  dim  eyes  bold  and  fearless  even  as  thine. 


Tells  of  the  Story  of  Ambrose      41 

Ah,  Beltane,  well  do  I  know  women  and  the  ways  of  women  ! 
Come,  sit  you  beside  me  and,  because  thou  art  fain  to  go 
into  the  world  and  play  thy  man's  part,  so  now  will  I  tell 
thee  that  the  which  I  had  thought  to  bear  with  me  to  the 
grave." 

Then  Ambrose  the  Hermit,  leaning  his  head  upon  his 
hand,  began  to  speak  on  this  wise: 

*'  Upon  a  time  were  two  brothers,  nobles  of  a  great 
house  and  following,  each  alike  lovers  of  peace  yet  each 
terrible  in  war;  the  name  of  the  one  was  Johan  and  of  the 
other  Beltane.  Now  Beltane,  being  elder,  was  Duke  of 
that  country,  and  the  country  maintained  peace  within  its 
borders  and  the  people  thereof  waxed  rich  and  happy. 
And  because  these  twain  loved  each  other  passing  well  the 
way  of  the  one  was  ever  the  way  of  the  other  so  that  they 
dwelt  together  in  a  wondrous  amity,  and  as  their  hearts 
were  pure  and  strong  so  waxed  they  in  body  so  that  there 
was  none  could  cope  with  them  at  hand-strokes  nor  bear 
up  against  the  might  of  their  lances,  and  O,  methinks  in 
all  this  fair  world  nought  was  there  fairer  than  the  love 
of  these  two  brethren ! 

"  Now  it  befell,  upon  a  day,  that  they  set  out  with  a 
goodly  company  to  attend  a  tourney  in  a  certain  town 
whither,  likewise,  were  come  many  knights  of  renown, 
nobles  and  princes  beyond  count  eager  to  prove  their 
prowess,  thither  drawn  by  the  fame  of  that  fair  lady  who 
was  to  be  Queen  of  Beauty.  All  lips  spake  of  her  and  the 
wonder  of  her  charms,  how  that  a  man  could  not  look 
within  her  eyes  but  must  needs  fall  into  a  passion  of  love 
for  her.  But  the  brethren  smiled  and  paid  small  heed  and 
so,  together,  journeyed  to  the  city.  The  day  of  the 
joust  being  come,  forth  they  rode  into  the  lists,  side  by 
side,  each  in  his  triple  mail  and  ponderous  helm,  alike  at 
all  points  save  for  the  golden  circlet  upon  Duke  Beltane's 
shining  casque.  And  there  befell,  that  day,  a  mighty 
shivering  of  lances  and  many  a  knightly  deed  was  wrought. 
But,  for  these  brethren  there  was  none  of  all  these  knights 
and  nobles  who  might  abide  their  onset ;  all  day  long  they 


42  Beltane  the  Smith 

together  maintained  the  lists  till  there  none  remained  to 
cope  with  them,  wherefore  the  marshal  would  have  had 
them  run  a  course  together  for  proof  which  was  the 
mightier.  But  Beltane  smiled  and  shook  his  head  saying, 
'  Nay,  it  is  not  meet  that  brother  strive  with  brother ! ' 
And  Johan  said :  '  Since  the  day  doth  rest  with  us,  we  will 
share  the  glory  together.'  So,  amid  the  acclaim  of  voice 
and  trumpet,  side  by  side  they  came  to  make  obeisance  to 
the  Queen  of  Beauty,  and  gazing  upon  her,  they  saw  that 
she  was  indeed  of  a  wondrous  beauty.  Now  in  her  hand 
she  held  the  crown  that  should  reward  the  victor,  yet  be- 
cause they  were  two,  she  knew  not  whom  to  choose,  where- 
fore she  laughed,  and  brake  the  crown  asunder  and  gave 
to  each  a  half  with  many  fair  words  and  gentle  sayings. 
But,  alas,  my  son !  from  that  hour  her  beauty  came  betwixt 
these  brethren,  veiling  their  hearts  one  from  the  other. 
So  they  tarried  awhile  in  that  fair  city,  yet  companied  to- 
gether no  more,  for  each  was  fain  to  walk  apart,  dreaming 
of  this  woman  and  the  beauty  of  her,  and  each  by  stealth 
wooed  her  to  wife.  At  last,  upon  an  evening,  came  Johan 
to  his  brother  and  taking  from  his  bosom  the  half  of  the 
crown  he  had  won,  kissed  it  and  gave  it  to  Beltane,  saying: 
*  The  half  of  a  crown  availeth  no  man,  take  therefore  my 
half  and  join  it  with  thine,  for  well  do  I  know  thy  heart, 
my  brother  —  and  thou  art  the  elder,  and  Duke ;  go  there- 
fore and  woo  this  lady  to  wife,  and  God  speed  thee,  my 
lord.'  But  Beltane  said :  '  Shame  were  it  in  me  to  take 
advantage  of  my  years  thus ;  doth  age  or  rank  make  a 
man's  love  more  worthy?  So,  get  thee  to  thy  wooing,  my 
brother,  and  heaven's  blessing  on  thee.'  Then  grew  Johan 
full  of  joy,  saying:  '  So  be  it,  dear  my  brother,  but  an  I 
come  not  to  thee  within  three  days  at  sunset,  then  shalt 
know  that  my  wooing  hath  not  prospered.'  Upon  the 
third  day,  therefore,  Beltane  the  Duke  girded  on  his 
armour  and  made  ready  to  ride  unto  his  own  demesne,  yet 
tarried  until  sunset,  according  to  his  word.  But  his 
brother  Johan  came  not.  Therefore  he,  in  turn,  rode 
upon  his  wooing  and  came  unto  the  lady's  presence  in 


Tells  of  the  Story  of  Ambrose     43 

hauberk  of  mail,  and  thus  ungentlj  clad  wooed  her  as  one 
in  haste  to  be  gone,  telling  her  that  this  world  was  no 
place  for  a  man  to  sigh  out  his  days  at  a  woman's  feet, 
and  bidding  her  answer  him  *  Yea  '  or  '  Nay  '  and  let  him 
be  gone  to  his  duty.  And  she,  whom  so  many  had  wooed 
on  bended  knee,  spake  him  '  Yea  ' —  for  that  a  woman's 
ways  be  beyond  all  knowledge  —  and  therewith  gave  her 
beauty  to  his  keeping.  So,  forthwith  were  they  wed,  with 
much  pomp  and  circumstance,  and  so  he  brought  her  to 
his  Duchy  with  great  joy  and  acclaim.  Then  would  Johan 
have  departed  over  seas,  but  Beltane  ever  dissuaded  him, 
and  fain  these  brethren  would  have  loved  each  other  as 
they  had  done  aforetime,  yet  was  the  beauty  of  this  woman 
ever  betwixt  them.  Now,  within  that  year,  came  news  of 
fire  and  sword  upon  the  border,  of  cruel  rape  and  murder, 
so  Beltane  sent  forth  his  brother  Johan  with  an  army  to 
drive  back  the  invaders,  and  himself  abode  in  his  great 
castle,  happy  in  the  love  of  his  fair,  young  wife.  But  the 
war  went  ill,  tidings  came  that  Johan  his  brother  was 
beaten  back  with  much  loss  and  he  himself  sore  wounded. 
Therefore  the  Duke  made  ready  to  set  forth  at  the  head 
of  a  veteran  company,  but  ere  he  rode  a  son  was  born  to 
him,  so  needs  must  he  come  to  his  wife  in  his  armour,  and 
beholding  the  child,  kissed  him.  Thereafter  Duke  Beltane 
rode  to  the  war  with  a  glad  heart,  and  fell  upon  his  enemies 
and  scattered  them,  and  pursued  them  far  and  smote  them 
even  to  their  own  gates.  But  in  the  hour  of  his  triumph 
he  fell,  by  treachery,  into  the  hands  of  his  cruelest  enemy, 
hoAv  it  mattereth  not,  and  for  a  space  was  lost  to  sight 
and  memory.  But  as  for  Jolian,  the  Duke's  brother,  he 
lay  long  sick  of  his  wounds,  so  came  the  Duchess  and  min- 
istered to  him ;  and  she  was  fair,  and  passing  fair,  and  he 
was  young.  And  when  his  strength  was  come  again,  each 
day  was  Johan  minded  to  ride  forth  and  seek  the  Duke 
his  brother  —  but  he  was  young,  and  she  passing  fair, 
wherefore  he  tarried  still,  bound  by  the  lure  of  her  beauty. 
And,  upon  a  soft  and  stilly  eve  as  they  walked  together 
in  the  garden,  she  wooed  Johan  with  tender  look  and  word, 


44  Beltane  the  Smith 

and  wreathed  her  white  arms  about  him  and  gave  to  his 
her  mouth.  And,  in  that  moment  came  one,  fierce  and 
wild  of  aspect,  in  dinted  casque  and  rusty  mail  who  stood 
and  watched  —  ah  God !  " 

Here,  for  a  while,  the  hermit  Ambrose  stayed  his  tale, 
and  Beltane  saw  his  brow  was  moist  and  that  his  thin 
hands  clenched  and  wrung  each  other. 

"  So  thus,  my  son,  came  Duke  Beltane  home  again,  he 
and  his  esquire  Sir  Benedict  of  Bourne  alone  of  all  his 
company,  each  alike  worn  with  hardship  and  spent  with 
wounds.  But  now  was  the  Duke  stricken  of  a  greater 
pain  and  leaned  him  upon  the  shoulder  of  his  esquire,  faint 
and  sick  of  soul,  and  knew  an  anguish  deeper  than  any  flesh 
may  know.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  madness  came  upon  him 
and,  breaking  from  the  mailed  arms  that  held  him,  he  came 
hot-foot  to  the  courtyard  and  to  the  hall  beyond,  hurling 
aside  all  such  as  sought  to  stay  him  and  so  reached  at 
last  my  lady's  bower,  his  mailed  feet  ringing  upon  the 
,stones.  And,  looking  up,  the  Duchess  saw  and  cried 
aloud  and  stood,  thereafter,  pale  and  speechless  and  wide 
of  eye,  while  Johan's  cheek  grew  red  and  in  his  look  was 
shame.  Then  the  Duke  put  up  his  vizor  and,  when  he 
spake,  his  voice  was  harsh  and  strange :  '  Greeting,  good 
brother ! '  said  he,  *  go  now,  I  pray  you,  get  you  horse  and 
armour  and  wait  me  in  the  courtyard,  yet  first  must  I 
greet  this  my  lady  wife.'  So  Johan  turned,  with  hanging 
head,  and  went  slow-footed  from  the  chamber.  Then  said 
the  Duke,  laughing  in  his  madness,  '  Behold,  lady,  the 
power  of  a  woman's  beauty,  for  I  loved  a  noble  brother 
once,  a  spotless  knight  whose  honour  reached  high  as 
heaven,  but  thou  hast  made  of  him  a  something  foul  and 
base,  traitor  to  me  and  to  his  own  sweet  name,  and  'tis  for 
this  I  will  requite  thee ! '  But  the  Duchess  spake  not,  nor 
blenched  even  when  the  dagger  gleamed  to  strike  —  O 
sweet  God  of  mercy,  to  strike !  But,  in  that  moment, 
came  Benedict  of  Bourne  and  leapt  betwixt  and  took  the 
blow  upon  his  cheek,  and,  stanching  the  blood  within  his 
tattered  war-cloak,  cried :  '  Lord  Duke,  because  I  love  thee, 


Tells  of  the  Story  of  Ambrose      45 

ne'er  shalt  thou  do  this  thing  until  thou  first  slay  me ! ' 
A  while  the  Duke  stood  in  amaze,  then  turned  and  strode 
away  down  the  great  stair,  and  coming  to  the  courtyard, 
■beheld  liis  brother  Johan  armed  at  all  points  and  mounted, 
and  with  another  horse  equipped  near  by.  So  the  Duke 
laughed  and  closed  his  vizor  and  his  laughter  boomed 
hollow  within  his  rusty  casque,  and,  leaping  to  the  saddle, 
rode  to  the  end  of  the  great  tilt-yard,  and,  wheeling, 
couched  his  lance.  So  these  brethren,  who  had  loved  each 
other  so  well,  spurred  upon  each  other  with  levelled  lances 
but,  or  ever  the  shock  came  —  O  my  son,  my  son !  —  Johan 
rose  high  in  his  stirrups  and  cried  aloud  the  battle-cry  of 
his  house  '  Arise !  Arise !  I  shall  arise ! '  and  with  the 
cry,  tossed  aside  his  lance  lest  he  might  harm  the  Duke  his 
brother  —  O  sweet  clemency  of  Christ !  —  and  crashed  to 
earth  — •  and  lay  there  —  very  still  and  silent.  Then  the 
Duke  dismounted  and,  watched  by  pale-faced  esquires  and 
men-at-arms,  came  and  knelt  beside  his  brother,  and  laid 
aside  his  brother's  riven  helm  and,  beholding  his  comely 
features  torn  and  marred  and  his  golden  hair  all  hatefully 
bedabbled,  felt  his  heart  burst  in  sunder,  and  he  groaned, 
and  rising  to  stumbling  feet  came  to  his  horse  and 
mounted  and  rode  away  'neath  grim  portcullis  and  over 
echoing  drawbridge,  yet,  whithersoever  he  looked,  he  saw 
only  his  brother's  dead  face,  pale  and  bloody.  And  fain 
he  would  have  prayed  but  could  not,  and  so  he  came 
into  the  forest.  All  day  long  he  rode  beneath  the  trees 
careless  of  his  going,  conscious  only  that  Benedict  of 
Bourne  rode  behind  with  his  bloody  war-cloak  wrapped 
about  him.  But  on  rode  the  Duke  with  hanging  head  and 
listless  hands  for  before  his  haggard  eyes  was  ever  the 
pale,  dead  face  of  Johan  his  brother.  Now,  as  the  moon 
rose,  they  came  to  a  brook  that  whispered  soft-voiced  amid 
the  shadows  and  here  his  war-horse  stayed  to  drink. 
Then  came  Sir  Benedict  of  Bourne  beside  him,  '  Lord 
Duke,'  said  he,  '  what  hast  thou  in  thy  mind  to  do?  '  'I 
know  not,'  said  the  Duke,  '  though  methinks  'twere  sweet 
to  die.'     '  Then  what  of  the  babe,  lord  Duke?  '  and,  speak- 


46 


Beltane  the  Smith 


ing,  Sir  Benedict  drew  aside  his  cloak  and  showed  the  babe 
asleep  beneath.  But,  looking  upon  its  innocence,  the 
Duke  cried  out  and  hid  his  face,  for  the  babe's  golden  curls 
were  dabbled  with  the  blood  from  Sir  Benedict's  wound  and 
looked  even  as  had  the  face  of  the  dead  Johan.  Yet,  in  a 
while,  the  Duke  reached  out  and  took  the  child  and  setting 
it  against  his  breast,  turned  his  horse.  Said  Sir  Benedict: 
'  Whither  do  we  ride,  lord  Duke?  '  Then  spake  the  Duke 
on  this  wise :  *  Sir  Benedict,  Duke  Beltane  is  no  more,  the 
stroke  that  slew  my  brother  Johan  killed  Duke  Beltane 
also.  But  as  for  you,  get  you  to  Pentavalon  and  say  the 
Duke  is  dead,  in  proof  whereof  take  you  this  my  ring  and 
so,  farewell.'  Then,  my  Beltane,  God  guiding  me,  I 
brought  thee  to  these  solitudes,  for  I  am  he  that  was  the 
Duke  Beltane,  and  thou  art  my  son  indeed." 


CHAPTER  VI 

HOW  BELTANE  FARED  FORTH  OF  THE  GREEN 

Thus  spake  the  hermit  Ambrose  and,  having  made  an  end, 
sat  thereafter  with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  hands,  while 
Beltane  stood  wide-eyed  yet  seeing  not,  and  with  lips  apart 
yet  dumb  by  reason  of  the  wonder  of  it;  therefore,  in  a 
while,  the  hermit  spake  again: 

"  Thus  did  we  live  together,  thou  and  I,  dear  son,  and 
I  loved  thee  well,  my  Beltane :  with  each  succeeding  day  I 
loved  thee  better,  for  as  thine  understanding  grew,  so  grew 
my  love  for  thee.  Therefore,  so  soon  as  thou  wert  of  an 
age,  set  in  thy  strength  and  able  to  thine  own  support,  I 
tore  myself  from  thy  sweet  fellowship  and  lived  alone  lest, 
having  thee,  I  might  come  nigh  to  happiness." 

Then  Beltane  sank  upon  his  knees  and  caught  the  her- 
mit's wasted  hands  and  kissed  them  oft,  saying: 

"  Much  hast  thou  suffered,  O  my  father,  but  now  am 
I  come  to  thee  again  and,  knowing  all  things,  here  will  I 
bide  and  leave  thee  nevermore."  Now  in  the  hermit's  pale 
cheek  came  a  faint  and  sudden  glow,  and  in  his  eyes  a  light 
not  of  the  sun. 

"  Bethink  thee,  boy,"  said  he,  "  the  blood  within  thy 
veins  is  noble.  For,  since  thou  art  my  son,  so,  an  thou 
dost  leave  me  and  seek  thy  destiny  thou  shalt,  perchance, 
be  Duke  of  Pentavalon  —  an  God  will  it  so." 

But  Beltane  shook  his  head.     Quoth  he: 

"  My  father,  I  am  a  smith,  and  smith  am  I  content  to 
be  since  thou,  lord  Duke,  art  my  father.  So  now  will  I 
abide  with  thee  and  love  and  honour  thee,  and  be  thj  son 
indeed." 

Then  rose  the  hermit  Ambrose  to  his  feet  and  spake 
with  eyes  uplifted: 


48 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Now  glory  be  to  God,  Who,  in  His  mercy,  hath  made 
of  thee  a  man,  my  Beltane,  clean  of  soul  and  innocent,  yet 
strong  of  arm  to  lift  and  succour  the  distressed,  and  there- 
fore it  is  that  you  to-day  must  leave  me,  my  well-beloved, 
for  there  be  those  whose  need  of  thee  is  greater  even  than 
mine." 

"  Nay,  dear  my  father,  how  may  this  be?  " 

Now  hereupon  Ambrose  the  Hermit  stood  awhile  with 
bent  head,  and  spake  not,  only  he  sighed  full  oft  and  wrung 
his  hands. 

"  I  thought  but  of  myself !  "  he  groaned,  "  great  sor- 
row is  oft-times  greatly  selfish.  Alas,  my  son  —  twenty 
weary  years  have  I  lived  here  suing  God's  forgiveness,  and 
for  twenty  bitter  years  Pentavalon  hath  groaned  'neath 
shameful  wrong  —  and  death  in  many  hateful  shapes.  O 
God  have  mercy  on  a  sinner  who  thought  but  on  himself! 
List,  my  son,  O  list!  On  a  day,  as  I  kneeled  before  yon 
cross,  came  one  in  knightly  armour  and  upon  his  face, 
'neath  the  links  of  his  camail,  I  saw  a  great  scar  —  the 
scar  this  hand  had  wrought.  And,  even  as  I  knew  Sir 
Benedict,  in  that  same  moment  he  knew  me,  and  gave  a 
joyous  cry  and  came  and  fell  upon  his  knee  and  kissed 
my  hand,  as  of  old.  Thereafter  we  talked,  and  he  told  me 
many  a  woeful  tale  of  Pentavalon  and  of  its  misery. 
How,  when  I  was  gone,  rose  bitter  fight  and  faction,  barons 
and  knights  striving  together  which  should  be  Duke.  In 
the  midst  of  the  which  disorders  came  one,  from  beyond 
seas,  whom  men  called  Ivo,  who  by  might  of  sword  and 
cunning  tongue  made  himself  Duke  in  ray  place.  Sir 
Benedict  told  of  a  fierce  and  iron  rule,  of  the  pillage  and 
ravishment  of  town  and  city,  of  outrage  and  injustice,  of 
rack  and  flame  and  gibbet  —  of  a  people  groaning  'neath 
a  thousand  cruel  wrongs.  Then,  indeed,  did  I  see  that 
my  on4  great  sin  a  thousand  other  sins  had  bred,  and  was 
I  full  of  bitter  sorrow  and  anguish.  And,  in  my  anguish, 
I  thought  on  thee,  and  sent  to  thee  Sir  Benedict,  and 
watched  thee  wrestle,  and  at  stroke  of  sword,  and  praised 
God  for  thy  goodly  might  and  strength.     For  O,  dear  my 


How  Beltane  Fared  Forth       49 

son,  meseemeth  that  God  hath  raised  thee  up  to  succour 
these  afflicted,  to  shield  the  weak  and  helpless  —  hath 
made  thee  great  and  mightier  than  most  to  smite  Evil  that 
it  may  flee  before  thee.  So  in  thee  shall  my  youth  be  re- 
newed, and  my  sins,  peradventure,  purged  away." 

"  Father ! "  said  Beltane  rising,  his  blue  eyes  wide,  his 
strong  hands  a-tremble,  "  O  my  father !  "  Then  Ambrose 
clasped  those  quivering  hands  and  kissed  those  wide  and 
troubled  eyes  and  spake  thereafter,  slow  and  soft : 

"  Now  shall  I  live  henceforth  in  thee,  my  son,  glorying 
in  thy  deeds  hereafter.  And  if  thou  must  needs  —  bleed, 
then  shall  my  heart  bleed  with  thee,  or  if  thou  meet  with 
death,  my  Beltane,  then  shall  this  heart  of  mine  die  with 
thee." 

Thus  speaking,  the  hermit  drew  the  sword  from  Bel- 
tane's girdle  and  held  the  great  blade  towards  heaven. 

"  Behold,  my  son,"  said  he,  "  the  motto  of  our  house, 
'  I  will  arise ! '  So  now  shalt  thou  arise  indeed  that  thy 
destiny  may  be  fulfilled.  Take  hold  upon  thy  manhood, 
my  well-beloved,  get  thee  to  woeful  Pentavalon  and,  be- 
holding its  sorrows,  seek  how  they  may  be  assuaged. 
Now  my  Beltane,  all  is  said  —  when  wilt  thou  leave  thy 
father.?" 

Quoth  Beltane,  gathering  his  cloak  about  him : 

"  An  so  it  be  thy  wish,  my  father,  then  will  I  go  this 
hour." 

Then  Ambrose  brought  Beltane  into  his  humble  dwelling 
where  was  a  coffer  wrought  by  his  own  skilful  fingers ;  and 
from  this  coffer  he  drew  forth  a  suit  of  triple  mail,  won- 
drously  fashioned,  beholding  the  which.  Beltane's  eyes 
glistened  because  of  the  excellence  of  its  craftsmanship. 

"  Behold !  "  quoth  the  hermit,  "  'tis  an  armour  worthy 
of  a  king,  light  is  it,  yet  marvellous  strong,  and  hath  been 
well  tried  in  many  a  desperate  affray.  'Tis  twenty  j^ears 
since  these  limbs  bore  it,  yet  see  —  I  have  kept  it  bright 
from  rust  lest,  peradventure,  Pentavalon  should  need  thee 
to  raise  again  the  battle  cry  of  thy  house  and  lead  her 
men  to  war.     And,  alas  dear  son,  that  day  is  now!     Pen- 


50  Beltane  the  Smith 

tavalon  calls  to  thee  from  out  the  gloom  of  dungeon,  from 
the  anguish  of  flame,  and  rack,  and  gibbet  —  from  blood- 
soaked  hearth  and  shameful  grave  she  calls  thee  —  so,  my 
Beltane,  come  and  let  me  arm  thee." 

And  there,  within  his  little  hut,  the  hermit  Ambrose, 
Duke  of  Pentavalon  that  was,  girt  the  armour  upon  Bel- 
tane the  mighty,  Duke  of  Pentavalon  to  be,  if  so  God 
willed;  first  the  gambeson  of  stuffed  and  quilted  leather, 
and,  thereafter,  coifed  hauberk  and  chausses,  with  wide 
sword-belt  clamped  with  broad  plates  of  silver  and  studs 
of  gold,  until  my  Beltane  stood  up  armed  in  shining  mail 
from  head  to  foot.  Then  brought  Ambrose  a  wallet, 
wherein  were  six  gold  pieces,  and  put  it  in  his  hand,  say- 
ing: 

"  These  have  I  kept  against  this  day,  my  Beltane. 
Take  them  to  aid  thee  on  thy  journey,  for  the  county  of 
Bourne  lieth  far  to  the  south." 

*'  Do  I  then  journey  to  Bourne,  my  father?  " 

**  Aye,  to  Sir  Benedict,  who  yet  doth  hold  the  great 
keep  of  Thrasfordham.  Many  sieges  hath  he  withstood, 
and  daily  men  flee  to  him  —  stricken  men,  runaway  serfs, 
and  outlaws  from  the  green,  all  such  masterless  men  as  lie 
in  fear  of  their  lives." 

Said  Beltane,  slow  and  thoughtful: 

**  There  be  many  outlaws  within  the  green,  wild  men 
and  sturdy  fighters  as  I've  heard.  Hath  Sir  Benedict 
many  men,  my  father?  " 

"  Alas !  a  pitiful  few,  and  Black  Ivo  can  muster  bows 
and  lances  by  the  ten  thousand  — " 

"  Yet  doth  Sir  Benedict  withstand  them  all,  my  father !  " 

"  Yet  must  he  keep  ever  within  Bourne,  Beltane.  All 
Pentavalon,  save  Bourne,  lieth  'neath  Ivo's  iron  foot,  ruled 
by  his  fierce  nobles,  and  they  be  strong  and  many,  'gainst 
whom  Sir  Benedict  is  helpless  in  the  field.  'Tis  but  five 
years  agone  since  Ivo  gave  up  fair  Belsaye  town  to  rav- 
ishment and  pillage,  and  thereafter,  builded  him  a 
mighty  gallows  over  against  it  and  hanged  many  men 
thereon." 


How  Beltane  Fared  Forth        5  i 

Now  hereupon,  of  a  sudden,  Beltane  clenched  his  hands 
and  fell  upon  his  knees. 

"  Father,"  said  he,  "  Pentavalon  indeed  doth  cry,  so 
must  I  now  arise  and  go  unto  her.  Give  me  thy  blessing 
that  I  may  go." 

Then  the  hermit  laid  his  hands  upon  Beltane's  golden 
head  and  blessed  him,  and  whispered  awhile  in  passionate 
prayer.  Thereafter  Beltane  arose  and,  together,  they 
came  out  into  the  sunshine. 

"  South  and  by  west  must  you  march,  dear  son,  and 
God,  methinks,  shall  go  beside  thee,  for  thy  feet  shall 
tread  a  path  where  Death  shall  lie  in  wait  for  thee.  Let 
thine  eyes  be  watchful  therefore,  and  thine  ears  quick  to 
hear.  Hearken  you  to  all  men,  yet  speak  you  few  words 
and  soft.  But,  when  you  act,  let  your  deeds  shout  unto 
heaven,  that  all  Pentavalon  may  know  a  man  is  come  to 
lead  them  who  fears  only  God.  And  so,  my  Beltane,  fare- 
thee-well!  Come,  kiss  me,  boy;  our  next  kiss,  perchance 
—  shall  be  in  heaven." 

And  thus  they  kissed,  and  looked  within  each  other's 
eyes ;  then  Beltane  turned  him,  swift  and  sudden,  and 
strode  upon  his  way.  But,  in  a  little,  looking  back,  he 
saw  his  father,  kneeling  before  the  cross,  with  long,  gaunt 
arms  upraised  to  heaven. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HOW  BELTANE  TALKED  WITH  ONE  HIGHT  GILES  BRABBLE- 
COMBE,  WHO  WAS  A  NOTABLE  AND  LEARNED  ARCHER 

The  morning  was  yet  young  when  my  Beltane  fared  forth 
into  the  world,  a  joyous,  golden  morning  trilling  with  the 
glad  song  of  birds  and  rich  with  a  thousand  dewy  scents ; 
a  fair,  sweet,  joyous  world  it  was  indeed,  whose  glories, 
stealing  in  at  eye  and  ear,  filled  him  with  their  gladness. 
On  strode  my  Beltane  by  rippling  brook  and  sleepy  pool, 
with  step  swift  and  light  and  eyes  wide  and  shining,  thread- 
ing an  unerring  course  as  only  a  forester  might;  now 
crossing  some  broad  and  sunny  glade  where  dawn  yet 
lingered  in  rosy  mist,  anon  plunging  into  the  green  twi- 
light of  dell  and  dingle,  through  tangled  brush  and  scented 
bracken  gemmed  yet  with  dewy  fire,  by  marsh  and  swamp 
and  lichened  rock,  until  he  came  out  upon  the  forest  road, 
that  great  road  laid  by  the  iron  men  of  Rome,  but  now 
little  better  than  a  grassy  track,  yet  here  and  there,  with 
mossy  stone  set  up  to  the  glory  of  proud  emperor  and 
hardy  centurion  long  since  dust  and  ashes ;  a  rutted  track, 
indeed,  but  leading  ever  on,  'neath  mighty  trees,  over  hill 
and  dale  towards  the  blue  mystery  beyond. 

Now,  in  a  while,  being  come  to  the  brow  of  a  hill,  needs 
must  my  Beltane  pause  to  look  back  upon  the  woodlands 
he  had  loved  so  well  and,  sighing,  he  stretched  his  arms 
thitherward ;  and  lo !  out  of  the  soft  twilight  of  the  green, 
stole  a  gentle  wind  full  of  the  scent  of  root  and  herb  and 
the  fresh,  SAveet  smell  of  earth,  a  cool,  soft  wind  that  stirred 
the  golden  hair  at  his  temples,  like  a  caress,  and  so  —  was 
gone.  For  a  while  he  stood  thus,  gazing  towards  where 
he  knew  his  father  yet  knelt  in  prayer  for  him,  then  turned 
he  slowly,  and  went  his  appointed  way. 


How  Beltane  Talked  with  One  Giles  53 

Thus  did  Beltane  bid  farewell  to  the  greenwood  and  to 
woodland  things,  and  thus  did  the  green  spirit  of  the  woods 
send  forth  a  gentle  wind  to  kiss  him  on  the  brow  ere  he 
went  out  into  the  world  of  men  and  cities. 

Now,  after  some  while,  as  he  walked.  Beltane  was  aware 
of  the  silvery  tinkle  of  bells  and,  therewith,  a  full,  sweet 
voice  upraised  in  song,  and  the  song  was  right  merry  and 
the  words  likewise : 

"  O  ne'er  shall  my  lust  for  the  bowl  decline. 
Nor  my  love  for  my  good  long  bow; 
For  as  bow  to  the  shaft  and  as  bowl  to  the  wine. 
Is  a  maid  to  a  man,  I  trow." 

Looking  about,  Beltane  saw  the  singer,  a  comely  fellow 
whose  long  legs  bestrode  a  plump  ass ;  a  lusty  man  he  was, 
clad  in  shirt  of  mail  and  with  a  feather  of  green  brooched 
to  his  escalloped  hood;  a  long-bow  hung  at  his  back  to- 
gether with  a  quiver  of  arrows,  while  at  his  thigh  swung 
a  heavy,  broad-bladed  sword.  Now  he,  espying  Beltane 
amid  the  leaves,  brought  the  ass  to  a  sudden  halt  and 
clapped  hand  to  the  pommel  of  his  sword. 

"  How  now,  Goliath !  "  cried  he.  "  Pax  vobiscum,  and 
likewise  henedicite!  Come  ye  in  peace,  forsooth,  or  is  it 
to  be  helium  inter necinum?  Though,  by  St.  Giles,  which 
is  my  patron  saint,  I  care  not  how  it  be,  for  mark  ye, 
'vacuus  cantat  coram  latrone  viator.  Sir  Goliath,  the  which 
in  the  vulgar  tongue  signifieth  that  he  who  travels  with  an 
empty  purse  laughs  before  the  footpad  —  moreover,  I 
have  a  sword !  " 

But  Beltane  laughed,  saying: 

"  I  have  no  lust  to  thy  purse,  most  learned  bowman, 
or  indeed  to  aught  of  thine  unless  it  be  thy  company." 

"  My  company .''  "  quoth  the  bowman,  looking  Beltane 
up  and  down  with  merry  blue  eyes,  "  why  now  do  I 
know  thee  for  a  fellow  of  rare  good  judgment,  for  my 
company  is  of  the  best,  in  that  I  have  a  tongue  which 
loveth  to  wag  in  jape  or  song.  Heard  ye  how  the  birds 
and  I  were  a-carolling?     A  right  blithesome  morn,  me- 


54  Beltane  the  Smith 

thinks,  what  with  my  song,  and  the  birds'  song,  and  this 
poor  ass's  bells  —  aye,  and  the  flowers  a-peep  from  the 
bank  yonder.  God  give  ye  joy  of  it,  tall  brother,  as  he 
doth  me  and  this  goodly  ass  betwixt  my  knees,  patient 
beast." 

Now  leaning  on  his  quarter-staff  Beltane  smiled  and 
said: 

"  How  came  ye  by  that  same  ass,  master  bowman?  " 

"  Well  —  I  met  a  monk !  "  quoth  the  fellow  with  a  gleam 
of  white  teeth.  "Ola  ponderous  monk,  brother,  of  most 
mighty  girth  of  belly !  Now,  as  ye  see,  though  this  ass  be 
sleek  and  fat  as  an  abbot,  she  is  something  small.  '  And 
shall  so  small  a  thing  needs  bear  so  great  a  mountain  o' 
flesh?  '  says  I  (much  moved  at  the  sight,  brother).  '  No, 
by  the  blessed  bones  of  St.  Giles  (which  is  my  patron 
saint,  brother),  so  thereafter  (by  dint  of  a  little  persua- 
sion, brother)  my  mountainous  monk,  to  ease  the  poor 
beast's  back,  presently  got  him  down  and  I,  forthwith,  got 
up  —  as  being  more  in  proportion  to  her  weight,  sweet 
beast !  O !  surely  ne'er  saw  I  fairer  morn  than  this,  and 
never,  in  so  fair  a  morn,  saw  I  fairer  man  than  thou,  Sir 
Forester,  nor  taller,  and  I  have  seen  many  men  in  my  day. 
Wherefore  an  so  ye  will,  let  us  company  together  what 
time  we  may ;  'tis  a  solitary  road,  and  the  tongue  is  a 
rare  shortener  of  distance." 

So  Beltane  strode  on  beside  this  garrulous  bowman, 
hearkening  to  his  merry  talk,  yet  himself  speaking  short 
and  to  the  point  as  was  ever  his  custom;  as  thus: 

Bowman.     "How  do  men  call  thee,  tall  brother?" 

Beltane.     "  Beltane." 

Bowman.  "  Ha !  'Tis  a  good  name,  forsooth  I've 
heard  worse  —  and  yet,  forsooth,  I've  heard  better.  Yet 
'tis  a  fairish  name  — 'twill  serve.  As  for  me,  Giles  Brab- 
blecombe  o'  the  Hills  men  call  me,  for  'twas  in  the  hill 
country  I  was  bom  thirty  odd  years  agone.  Since  then 
twelve  sieges  have  I  seen  with  skirmishes  and  onfalls  thrice 
as  many.  Death  have  I  beheld  in  many  and  divers  shapes 
and  in  experience  of  wounds  and  dangers  am  rich,  though. 


How  Beltane  Talked  with  One  Giles  5  5 

by  St.  Giles  (my  patron  saint),  in  little  else.  Yet  do  I 
love  life  the  better,  therefore,  and  I  have  read  that  '  to 
despise  gold  is  to  be  rich.'  " 

Beltane.  "Do  all  bowmen  read,  then?", 
Bowman.  "  Why  look  ye,  brother,  I  am  not  what  I  was 
aforetime  —  non  sum  qualis  eram  —  I  was  bred  a  shave- 
ling, a  mumbler,  a  be-gowned  do-nothing  —  brother,  I  was 
a  monk,  but  the  flesh  and  the  devil  made  of  me  a  bowman, 
heigho  —  so  wags  the  world !  Though  methinks  I  am  a 
better  bowman  than  ever  I  was  a  monk,  having  got  me 
some  repute  with  this  my  bow." 

Beltane  (shaking  his  head).  "Methinks  thy  choice 
was  but  a  sorry  one  for — " 

Bowman  (laughing).  "Choice  quotha!  'Twas  no 
choice,  'twas  forced  upon  me,  vi  et  armis.  I  should  be 
chanting  prime  or  matins  at  this  very  hour  but  for  this 
tongue  o'  mine,  God  bless  it!  For,  when  it  should  have 
been  droning  psalms,  it  was  forever  lilting  forth  some 
blithesome  melody,  some  merry  song  of  eyes  and  lips  and 
stolen  kisses.  In  such  sort  that  the  good  brethren  were 
wont  to  gather  round  and,  listening, —  sigh !  Whereof  it 
chanced  I  was,  one  night,  by  order  of  the  holy  Prior, 
drubbed  forth  of  the  sacred  precincts.  So  brother  An- 
selm  became  Giles  o'  the  Bow  —  the  kind  Saints  be  praised, 
in  especial  holy  Saint  Giles  (which  is  my  patron  saint!). 
For,  heed  me  —  better  the  blue  sky  and  the  sweet,  strong 
wind  than  the  gloom  and  silence  of  a  cloister.  I  had 
rather  hide  this  sconce  of  mine  in  a  Rood  of  mail  than  in 
the  mitre  of  a  lord  bishop  —  nolo  episcopare,  good  brother ! 
Thus  am  I  a  fighter,  and  a  good  fighter,  and  a  wise  fighter, 
having  learned  'tis  better  to  live  to  fight  than  to  fight  to 
live." 

Beltane.     "  And  for  whom  do  ^^e  fight?  " 
Bowman.     "  For  him  that  pays  most,  pecuniae  obediunt 
omnia,  brother." 

Beltane     (frowning).     "Money?     And     nought     be- 
side?" 

Bowman  (staring).     "As  what,  brother?" 


56 


Beltane  the  Smith 


Beltane.  "  The  justice  of  the  cause  wherefore  ye 
fight." 

Bowman.  "  Justice  quotha  —  cause !  0  innocent 
brother,  what  have  such  matters  to  do  with  such  as  I."^ 
See  you  now,  such  Heth  the  case.  You,  let  us  say,  being 
a  baron  (and  therefore  noble!)  have  a  mind  to  a  certain 
other  baron's  castle,  or  wife,  or  both —  (the  which  is  more 
usual)  wherefore  ye  come  to  me,  who  am  but  a  plain  bow- 
man knowing  nought  of  the  case,  and  you  chaffer  with  me 
for  the  use  of  this  my  body  for  so  much  money,  and  there- 
after I  shoot  my  best  on  thy  behalf  as  in  mine  honour 
bound.  Thus  have  I  fought  both  for  and  against  Black 
Ivo  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  his  Duchy  of 
Pentavalon.  If  ye  be  minded  to  sell  that  long  sword  o' 
thine,  to  none  better  market  could  ye  come,  for  there  be 
ever  work  for  such  about  Black  Ivo." 

Beltane.     "  Aye,  'tis  so  I  hear." 

Bowman.  "  Nor  shall  ye  anywhere  find  a  doughtier 
fighter  than  Duke  Ivo,  nor  a  leader  quicker  to  spy  out  the 
vantage  of  position  and  attack." 

Beltane.     "  Is  he  so  lusty  a  man-at-arms?  " 

Bowman.  "  With  lance,  axe,  or  sword  he  hath  no 
match.  I  have  seen  him  lead  a  charge.  I  have  watched 
him  fight  afoot.  I  have  stormed  behind  him  through  a 
breach,  and  I  know  of  none  dare  cope  with  him  —  unless 
it  be  Sir  Pertolepe  the  Red." 

Beltane.  "  Hast  ne'er  heard  tell,  then,  of  Benedict 
of  Bourne?  " 

Bowman  (clapping  hand  to  thigh).  "  Now  by  the 
blood  and  bones  of  St.  Giles  'tis  so !  Out  o'  the  mouth  of 
a  babe  and  suckling  am  I  corrected !  Verily  if  there  be 
one  to  front  Black  Ivo  'tis  Benedict  o'  the  Mark.  To  be- 
hold these  two  at  handstrokes  —  with  axes  —  ha,  there 
would  be  a  sweet  affray  indeed  —  a  sight  for  the  eyes  of 
holy  archangels !  Dost  know  aught  of  Sir  Benedict,  O 
Innocence?  " 

Beltane.     "  I  have  seen  him." 

Bowman.     "  Then,  my  soft  and  gentle  dove-like  youth, 


How  Beltane  Talked  with  One  Giles  5  7 

get  thee  to  thy  marrow-bones  and  pray  that  kind  heaven 
shall  make  thee  more  his  like,  for  in  his  shoes  doth  stand 
a  man  —  a  knight  —  a  very  paladin !  " 

Beltane.  "Who  fighteth  not  for  —  hire,  Sir  Bow- 
man !  " 

Bowman.  "  Yet  who  hireth  to  fight.  Sir  Dove-eyed 
Giant,  for  I  have  fought  for  him,  ere  now,  within  his  great 
keep  of  Thrasfordliam  within  Bourne.  But,  an  ye  seek 
emplo}^  his  is  but  a  poor  ser\'ice,  Avhere  a  man  shall  come 
by  harder  knocks  than  good  broad  pieces." 

Beltane.  "  And  yet,  'spite  thy  cunning  and  all  thy 
warring,  thy  purse  goeth  empty !  " 

Bowman.  "My  purse.  Sir  Dove?  Aye,  I  told  thee 
so  for  that  I  am  by  nature  cautious  —  sicut  mos'  est 
nobis!  But  thy  dove's  eyes  are  honest  eyes,  so  now  shall 
you  know  that  hid  within  the  lining  of  this  my  left  boot 
be  eighty  and  nine  gold  pieces,  and  in  my  right  a  ring  with 
stones  of  price,  and,  moreover,  here  b&hold  a  goodly  chain." 

So  saying,  the  bowman  drew  from  his  bosom  a  gold 
chain,  thick  and  long  and  heavy,  and  held  it  up  in  the 
sunlight. 

*'  I  got  this.  Sir  Dove,  together  with  the  ring  and  divers 
other  toys,  at  the  storming  of  Belsaye,  five  years  agone. 
Aha !  a  right  good  town  is  Belsaye,  and  growing  rich  and 
fat  against  another  plucking." 

"  And  how  came  Belsaye  to  be  stormed.''  " 

Quoth  Giles  the  Bowman,  eying  his  golden  chain : 

"  My  lord  Duke  Ivo  had  a  mind  to  a  certain  lady,  who 
was  yet  but  a  merchant's  daughter,  look  ye.  But  she  was 
young  and  wondrous  fair,  for  Duke  Ivo  hath  a  quick  eye 
and  rare  judgment  in  such  pretty  matters.  But  she  (and 
she  but  a  merchant's  daughter!)  took  it  ill,  and  when 
Duke  Ivo's  messengers  came  to  bear  her  to  his  presence, 
she  whined  and  struggled,  as  is  ever  woman's  way,  and 
thereafter  in  the  open  street  snatched  a  dagger  and  there- 
upon, before  her  father's  very  eye  did  slay  herself  (and 
she  but  a  merchant's  daughter!),  whereat  some  hot-head 
plucked  out  sword  and  other  citizens  likewise,  and  of  my 


58 


Beltane  the  Smith 


lord  Duke's  messengers  there  none  escaped  save  one  and 
he  sore  wounded.  So  Belsaye  city  shut  its  gates  'gainst 
my  lord  Duke  and  set  out  fighting-hoards  upon  its  walls. 
Yet  my  lord  Duke  battered  and  breached  it,  for  few  can 
match  him  in  a  siege,  and  stormed  it  within  three  days. 
And,  by  Saint  Giles,  though  he  lost  the  merchant's  daugh- 
ter methinks  he  lacked  not  at  all,  for  the  women  of  Bel- 
saye are  wondrous  fair." 

The  rising  sun  made  a  glory  all  about  them,  pouring 
his  beams  'twixt  mighty  trees  whose  knotted,  far-flung 
branches  dappled  the  way  here  and  there  with  shadow; 
but  now  Beltane  saw  nought  of  it  by  reason  that  he  walked 
with  head  a-droop  and  eyes  that  stared  earthward;  more- 
over his  hands  were  clenched  and  his  lips  close  and  grim- 
set.  As  for  Giles  o'  the  Bow,  he  chirrupped  merrily  to 
the  ass,  and  whistled  full  melodiously,  mocking  a  black- 
bird that  piped  amid  the  green.  Yet  in  a  while  he  turned 
to  stare  at  Beltane  rubbing  at  his  square,  shaven  chin 
with  strong,  brown  fingers. 

"  Forsooth,"  quoth  he,  nodding,  "  thou'rt  a  lusty  fel- 
low, Sir  Gentleness,  by  the  teeth  of  St.  Giles,  which  is 
my  patron  saint,  ne'er  saw  I  a  goodlier  spread  of  shoulder 
nor  such  a  proper  length  of  arm  to  twirl  an  axe  withal, 
and  thy  legs  like  me  well  —  hast  the  makings  of  a  right 
lusty  man-at-arms  in  thee,  despite  thy  soft  and  peaceful 
look !  " 

"  Yet  a  lover  of  peace  am  I !  "  said  Beltane,  his  head 
yet  drooping. 

"Peace,  quotha  —  peace?  Ha?  by  all  the  holy  saints 
—  peace!  A  soft  word!  A  woman's  word!  A  word 
smacking  of  babes  and  milk!  Out  upon  thee,  what  hath 
a  man  with  such  an  arm  —  aye,  and  legs  —  to  do  with 
peace?  An  you  would  now,  I  could  bring  ye  to  good 
service  'neath  Duke  Ivo's  banner.  'Tis  said  he  hath 
sworn,  this  year,  to  burn  Thrasfordham  keep,  to  hang 
Benedict  o'  the  Mark  and  lay  waste  to  Bourne.  Aha! 
you  shall  see  good  fighting  'neath  Ivo's  banner,  Sir 
Dove ! " 


How  Beltane  Talked  with  One  Giles  5  9 

Then  Beltane  raised  his  head  and  spake,  swift  and  sud- 
den, on  this  wise: 

"  An  I  must  fight,  the  which  God  forbid,  yet  once  this 
my  sword  is  drawn  ne'er  shall  it  rest  till  I  lie  dead  or  Black 
Ivo  is  no  more." 

Ihen  did  the  archer  stare  upon  my  Beltane  in  amaze 
with  eyes  full  wide  and  mouth  agape,  nor  spake  he  for 
awhile,  then: 

"  Black  Ivo  —  thou !  "  he  cried,  and  laughed  amain. 
"  Go  to,  my  tender  youth,"  said  he,  "  methinks  a  lute  were 
better  fitted  to  thy  hand  than  that  great  sword  o'  thine." 
Now  beholding  Beltane's  gloomy  face,  he  smiled  within 
his  hand,  yet  eyed  him  thoughtfully  thereafter,  and  so 
they  went  with  never  a  word  betwixt  them.  But,  in  a 
while,  the  archer  fell  to  snuffing  the  air,  and  clapped  Bel- 
tane upon  the  shoulder. 

"  Aha !  "  quoth  he,  "  methinks  we  reach  the  fair  Duchy 
of  Pentavalon;  smell  ye  aught,  brother?"  And  now,  in- 
deed. Beltane  became  aware  of  a  cold  wind,  foul  and  noi- 
some, a  deadly,  clammy  air  breathing  of  things  corrupt, 
chilling  the  flesh  with  swift  unthinking  dread ;  and,  halt- 
ing in  disgust,  he  looked  about  him  left  and  right. 

"  Above  —  above !  "  cried  Giles  o'  the  Bow,  *'  this  is  Sir 
Pertolepe's  country  —  look  you  heavenward.  Sir  Inno- 
cence !  " 

Then,  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  shivering  leaves  overhead, 
Beltane  of  a  sudden  espied  a  naked  foot  —  a  down-curv- 
ing, claw-like  thing,  shrivelled  and  hideous,  and,  glancing 
higher  yet,  beheld  a  sight  to  blast  the  sun  from  heaven: 
now  staring  up  at  the  contorted  horror  of  this  shrivelled 
thing  that  once  had  lived  and  laughed.  Beltane  let  fall  his 
staff  and,  being  suddenly  sick  and  faint,  sank  upon  his 
knees  and,  covering  his  eyes,  crouched  there  in  the  grass 
the  while  that  grisly,  silent  thing  swayed  to  and  fro  above 
him  in  the  gentle  wind  of  morning  and  the  cord  whereby 
it  hung  creaked  faintly. 

"  How  now  —  how  now !  "  cried  Giles ;  "  do  ye  blench 
before  this  churlish  carrion .'^     Aha!  ye  shall  see  the  trees 


6o  Beltane  the  Smith 

bear  many  such  hereabouts.  Get  up,  my  qualmish,  maid- 
like youth;  he  ne'er  shall  injure  thee  nor  any  man  again 
—  save  by  the  nose  —  faugh !  Rise,  rise  and  let  us  be 
gone." 

So,  presently  Beltane,  shivering,  got  him  to  his  feet 
and  looking  up,  pale-faced,  beheld  upon  the  ragged  bieast 
a  parchment  with  this  legend  in  fair,  good  writing: 

HE   KILLED  A  DEES, 

Then  spake  Beltane  'twixt  pallid  lips: 

*'  And  do  they  hang  men  for  killing  deer  in  this  coun- 
try.? " 

"Aye,  forsooth,  and  very  properly,  for,  heed  me,  your 
ragged  rogues  be  a  plenty,  but  a  stag  is  a  noble  creature 
and  something  scarcer  —  moreover  they  be  the  Duke's." 

"  By  whose  order  was  this  done.''  " 

"  Why,  the  parchment  beareth  the  badge  of  Sir  Per- 
tolepe,  called  the  Red.  But  look  you,  Sir  Innocent,  no 
iman  may  kill  a  deer  unless  he  be  of  gentle  blood." 

"  And  wherefore  ?  " 

«  'Tis  so  the  law !  " 

"  And  who  made  the  law  ?  " 

"  Why  —  as  to  that,"  quoth  Giles,  rubbing  his  chin, 
*'  as  to  that  —  what  matters  it  to  you  or  me?  Pah !  come 
away  lest  I  stifle  !  " 

But  now,  even  as  they  stood  thus,  out  of  the  green  came 
a  cry,  hoarse  at  first  but  rising  ever  higher  until  it  seemed 
to  fill  the  world  about  and  set  the  very  leaves  a-quiver. 
Once  it  came,  and  twice,  and  so  —  was  gone.  Then  Bel- 
tane trembling,  stooped  and  caught  up  his  long  quarter- 
staff,  and  seized  the  bowman  in  a  shaking  hand  that  yet 
was  strong,  and  dragging  him  from  the  ass  all  in  a  mo- 
ment, plunged  into  the  underbrush  whence  the  cry  had 
come.  And,  in  a  while,  they  beheld  a  cottage  upon  whose 
threshold  a  child  lay  —  not  asleep,  yet  very  still ;  and  be- 
yond the  cottage,  his  back  to  a  tree,  a  great  hairy  fellow, 
quarter-staff  in  hand,  made  play  against  five  others  whose 
steel  caps  and  ringed  hauberks  glittered  in  the  sun.      Close 


How  Beltane  Talked  with  One  Giles  6i 

and  ever  closer  they  beset  the  hairy  man  who,  bleeding  at 
the  shoulder,  yet  swung  his  heavy  staff;  but  ever  the  ght- 
tering  pike-heads  thrust  more  close.  Beside  the  man  a 
woman  crouched,  young  and  of  comely  seeming,  despite 
wild  hair  and  garments  torn  and  wrenched,  who  of  a  sud- 
den, with  another  loud  cry,  leapt  before  the  hairy  man 
covering  him  with  her  clinging  body  and,  in  that  moment, 
her  scream  died  to  a  choking  gasp  and  she  sank  huddled 
'neath  a  pike-thrust.  Then  Beltane  leapt,  the  great  sword 
flashing  in  his  grasp,  and  smote  the  smiter  and  set  his  feet 
upon  the  writhing  body  and  smote  amain  with  terrible  arm, 
and  his  laughter  rang  out  fierce  and  wild.  So  for  a  space, 
sword  clashed  with  pike,  but  ever  Beltane,  laughing  loud, 
drave  them  before  him  till  but  two  remained  and  they 
writhing  upon  the  sward.  Then  Beltane  turned  to  see 
Giles  o'  the  Bow,  who  leaned  against  a  tree  near  by,  wide- 
eyed  and  pale. 

"  Look !  "  he  cried,  pointing  with  quivering  finger,  "  one 
dead  and  one  sore  hurt  —  Saint  Giles  save  us,  what  have 
ye  done?  These  be  Sir  Pertolepe's  foresters  —  behold  his 
badge !  " 

But  Beltane  laughed,  fierce-eyed. 

"How,  bowman,  dost  blench  before  a  badge,  then?  I 
was  too  meek  and  gentle  for  thee  ere  this,  but  now,  if  thou'rt 
afraid  —  get  you  gone !  " 

^ "  Art  surely  mad !  "  quoth  Giles.  "  The  saints  be  my 
witness  here  was  no  act  of  mine !  "  So  saying  he  turned 
away  and  hasted  swift-footed  through  the  green.  Now 
when  the  bowman  was  gone,  Beltane  turned  him  to  the 
hairy  man  who  yet  kneeled  beside  the  body  of  the  woman. 
Said  he : 

"  Good  fellow,  is  there  aught  I  may  do  for  thee?  " 

"  Wife  and  child  —  and  dead !  "  the  man  muttered, 
"  child  and  wife  —  and  dead !  A  week  ago,  my  brother  — 
and  now,  the  child,  and  then  the  wife !  Child  and  wife  and 
brother  —  and  dead !  "  Then  Beltane  came,  minded  to 
aid  him  with  the  woman,  but  the  hairy  man  sprang  before 
her,  swinging  his  great  staff  and  muttering  in  his  beard; 


62  Beltane  the  Smith 

therefore  Beltane,  sick  at  heart,  turned  him  away.  And, 
in  a  while,  being  come  to  the  road  once  more,  he  became 
aware  that  he  yet  grasped  his  sword  and  beheld  its  bright 
steel  dimmed  here  and  there  with  blood,  and,  as  he  gazed, 
his  brow  grew  dark  and  troubled. 

"  'Tis  thus  have  I  made  beginning,"  he  sighed,  "  so  now, 
God  aiding  me,  ne'er  will  I  rest  'till  peace  be  come  again 
and  tyranny  made  an  end  of !  " 

Then,  very  solemnly,  did  my  Beltane  kneel  him  beside  the 
way  and  lifting  the  cross  hilt  of  his  sword  to  heaven  kissed 
it,  and  thereafter  rose.  And  so,  having  cleansed  the  steel 
within  the  earth,  he  sheathed  the  long  blade  and  went,  slow- 
footed,  upon  his  way. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HOW    BELTANE    HELD    DISCOURSE    WITH    A    BLACK    FRIAR 

The  sun  was  high,  and  by  his  shadow  Beltane  judged  it 
the  noon  hour ;  very  hot  and  very  still  it  was,  for  the  wind 
had  died  and  leaf  and  twig  hung  motionless  as  though 
asleep.  And  presently  as  he  went,  a  sound  stole  upon  the 
stillness,  a  sound  soft  and  beyond  all  things  pleasant  to 
hear,  the  murmurous  ripple  of  running  water  near  by. 
Going  aside  into  the  green  therefore.  Beltane  came  unto 
a  brook,  and  here,  screened  from  the  sun  'neath  shady 
willows,  he  laid  him  down  to  drink,  and  to  bathe  face  and 
hands  in  the  cool  water. 

Now  as  he  lay  thus,  staring  sad-eyed  into  the  hurrying 
waters  of  the  brook,  there  came  to  him  the  clicking  of 
sandalled  feet,  and  glancing  up,  he  beheld  one  clad  as  a 
black  friar.  A  fat  man  he  was,  jolly  of  figure  and  mightily 
round ;  his  nose  was  bulbous  and  he  had  a  drooping  lip. 

"  Peace  be  unto  thee,  my  son !  "  quoth  he,  breathing 
short  and  loud,  "  an  evil  day  for  a  fat  man  who  hath  been 
most  basely  bereft  of  a  goodly  ass  —  holy  Saint  Dunstan, 
how  I  gasp !  "  and  putting  back  the  cowl  from  his  tonsured 
crown,  he  puffed  out  his  cheeks  and  mopped  his  face. 
"  Hearkee  now,  good  youth,  hath  there  passed  thee  by  ever 
a  ribald  in  an  escalloped  hood  —  an  unhallowed,  long- 
legged,  scurvy  archer  knave  astride  a  fair  white  ass,  my 
son?  " 

"  Truly,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  we  parted  company  scarce 
an  hour  since." 

The  friar  sat  him  down  in  the  shade  of  the  willows  and 
sighing,  mopped  his  face  again ;  quoth  he : 

"  Now  may  the  curse  of  Saint  Augustine,  Saint  Bene- 
dict, Saint  Cuthbert  and  Saint  Dominic  light  upon  him 


64  Beltane  the  Smith 

for  a  lewd  fellow,  a  clapper-claw,  a  thieving  dog  who  hath 
no  regard  for  Holy  Church  —  forsooth  a  most  vicious 
rogue,  motistrum  nulla  mrtute  redemptium  a  vitiis!  " 

"  Good  friar,  thy  tongue  is  something  harsh,  methinks. 
Here  be  four  saints  with  as  many  curses,  and  all  for  one 
small  ass ! " 

The  friar  puffed  out  his  cheeks  and  sighed: 

"  'Twas  a  goodly  ass,  my  son,  a  fair  and  gentle  beast 
and  of  an  easy  gait,  and  I  am  one  that  loveth  not  to  trip 
it  in  the  dust.  Moreover  'twas  the  property  of  Holy 
Church!  To  take  from  thy  fellow  is  evil,  to  steal  from 
thy  lord  is  worse,  but  to  ravish  from  Holy  Church  —  per 
de  'tis  sacrilege,  'tis  foul  blasphemy  thrice  —  aye  thirty 
times  damned  and  beyond  all  hope  of  redemption !  So  now 
do  I  consign  yon  archer-knave  to  the  lowest  pit  of  Acheron 
—  damnatibs  est,  amen !  Yet,  my  son,  here  —  by  the 
mercy  of  heaven  is  a  treasure  the  rogue  hath  overlooked,  a 
pasty  most  rarely  seasoned  that  I  had  this  day  from  my 
lord's  own  table.  'Tis  something  smalj  for  two,  alack  and 
yet  —  stay  —  who  comes  ?  " 

Now,  lifting  his  head,  Beltane  beheld  a  man,  bent  and 
ragged  who  crept  towards  them  on  a  stick ;  his  face,  low- 
stooped,  was  hid  'neath  long  and  matted  hair,  but  his  tat- 
ters plainly  showed  the  hideous  nakedness  of  limbs  pinched 
and  shrunken  by  famine,  while  about  his  neck  was  a  heavy 
iron  collar  such  as  all  serfs  must  needs  wear.  Being  come 
near  he  paused,  leaning  upon  his  staff,  and  cried  out  in  a 
strange,  cracked  voice: 

"  O  ye  that  are  strong  and  may  see  the  blessed  sun,  show 
pity  on  one  that  is  feeble  and  walketh  ever  in  the  dark !  " 
And  now,  beneath  the  tangled  hair.  Beltane  beheld  a  livid 
face  in  whose  pale  oval,  the  eyeless  sockets  glowed  fierce 
and  red ;  moreover  he  saw  that  the  man's  right  ann  was 
but  a  mutilated  stump,  whereat  Beltane  shivered  and,  bow- 
ing his  head  upon  his  hands,  closed  his  eyes. 

"Oho!"  cried  the  friar,  "and  is  it  thou,  Simon? 
Trouble  ye  the  world  yet,  child  of  Satan?  " 

Hereupon  the  blind  man  fell  upon  his  knees. 


Discourse  with  a  Black  Friar      65 

"  Holy  father,"  he  groaned,  clasping  his  withered  arms 
upon  his  gaunt  breast,  "  good  Friar  Gui  I  die  of  hunger ; 
aid  me  lest  I  perish.  'Tis  true  I  am  outlaw  and  no  man 
may  minister  unto  me,  yet  be  merciful,  give  me  to  eat  —  O 
gentle  Christ,  aid  me  — " 

"  How !  "  cried  the  friar,  "  dare  ye  speak  that  name,  ye 
that  are  breaker  of  laws  human  and  divine,  ye  that  are 
murderer,  dare  ye  lift  those  bloody  hands  to  heaven?  " 

"  Holy  sir,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  he  hath  but  one ;  I  pray 
you  now  give  him  to  eat." 

"Feed  an  outlaw!  Art  mad,  young  sir.?  Feed  a, 
murderer,  a  rogue  banned  by  Holy  Church,  a  serf  that 
hath  raised  hand  'gainst  his  lord.?  He  should  have  hanged 
when  the  witch  his  daughter  burned,  but  that  Sir  Pertolepe, 
with  most  rare  mercy,  gave  to  the  rogue  his  life." 

"But,"  sighed  Beltane,  "left  him  to  starve — 'tis  a 
death  full  as  sure  yet  slower,  methinks.  Come,  let  us  feed 
him." 

"  I  tell  thee,  fond  youth,  he  is  excommunicate,  Wouldst 
have  me  contravene  the  order  of  Holy  Church.?     Go  to !  " 

Then  my  Beltane  put  his  hand  within  his  pouch  and  tak- 
ing thence  a  gold  piece  held  it  out  upon  his  palm ;  said  he : 

"Friar,  I  will  buy  the  half  of  thy  pasty  of  thee!" 
Hereupon  Friar  Gui  stared  from  the  gold  to  the  pasty, 
and  back  again. 

"  So  much !  "  quoth  he,  round-eyed.  "  Forsooth  'tis  a 
noble  pasty  and  yet  —  nay,  nay,  tempt  me  not  —  retro 
Satlianas!  "  and  closing  his  eyes  he  crossed  himself.  Then 
Beltane  took  out  other  two  gold  pieces  and  set  them  in  the 
blind  man's  bony  hand,  saying : 

"  Take  these  three  gold  pieces  and  buy  you  food,  and 
thereafter  — " 

"  Gold !  "  cried  the  blind  man,  "  gold !  Now  the  Saints 
keep  and  bless  thee,  young  sir,  sweet  Jesu  love  thee  ever !  " 
and  fain  would  he  have  knelt  to  kiss  my  Beltane's  feet. 
But  Beltane  raised  him  up  with  gentle  hand,  speaking  him 
kindly,  as  thus: 

"  Tell  now,  I  pray  you,  how  came  ye  to  slay.?  " 


66  Beltane  the  SmitH 

"  stay !  stay ! "  cried  Friar  Gui,  "  bethink  thee,  good 
youth  —  so  much  gold,  'tis  a  very  fortune !  With  so 
much,  masses  might  be  sung  for  his  wretched  soul ;  give  it 
therefore  to  Holy  Church,  so  shall  he,  peradventure,  at- 
tain Paradise." 

"  Not  so,"  answered  Beltane,  "  I  had  rather  he,  of  a 
surety,  attain  a  full  belly,  Sir  Friar."  Then,  turning  his 
back  upon  the  friar.  Beltane  questioned  the  blind  man 
again,  as  thus : 

"  Tell  me,  an  ye  will,  how  ye  came  to  shed  blood  ?  "  and 
the  outlaw,  kneeling  at  Beltane's  feet  answered  with  bowed 
head : 

"  Noble  sir,  I  had  a  daughter  and  she  was  young  and 
fair,  therefore  came  my  lord  Pertolepe's  chief  verderer  to 
bear  her  to  my  lord.  But  she  cried  to  me  and  I,  forgetting 
my  duty  to  my  lord,  took  my  quarter-staff  and,  serf 
though  I  was,  smote  the  chief  verderer  that  he  died  there- 
after, but,  ere  he  died,  he  named  my  daughter  witch.  And, 
when  they  had  burned  her,  they  put  out  mine  eyes,  and 
cut  off  my  hand,  and  made  of  me  an  outlaw.  So  is  my  sin 
very  heavy  upon  me." 

Now  when  the  man  had  made  an  end.  Beltane  stood 
silent  awhile,  then,  reaching  down,  he  aided  the  bhnd  man 
to  his  feet. 

"  Go  you  to  Mortain,"  said  he,  "  seek  out  the  hermit 
Ambrose  that  liveth  in  Holy  Cross  Thicket ;  with  him  shall 
you  find  refuge,  and  he,  methinks,  will  surely  win  thy  soul 
to  heaven." 

So  the  blind  man  blessed  my  Beltane  and  turning,  crept 
upon  his  solitary  way. 

"  Youth,"  said  the  friar,  frowning  up  into  Beltane's 
gentle  eyes,  "  thou  hast  this  day  put  thy  soul  in 
jeopardy  —  the  Church  doth  frown  upon  this  thy 
deed !  " 

"  And  yet,  most  reverend  sir,  God's  sun  doth  shine 
upon  this  my  body !  " 

Friar.  "  He  who  aideth  an  evil-doer  is  enemy  to  the 
good ! " 


Discourse  with  a  Black  Friar      67 

Beltajje.  "  Yet  he  who  seeketh  to  do  good  to  evil 
that  good  may  follow,  doeth  no  evil  to  good." 

Friar..     "  Ha !  thou  art  a  menace  to  the  state  — " 

Beltane.  "  So  shall  I  be,  I  pray  God,  the  whiles  this 
state  continue !  '* 

Friar.     "  Thou  art  either  rogue  or  fool !  " 

Beltane.     "  Well,  thou  hast  thy  choice." 

Friar.  "Alack!  this  sorry  world  is  full  of  rogues  and 
fools  and — " 

Beltane.     "  And  friars !  " 

Friar.  "  Who  seek  the  salvation  of  this  wretched 
world." 

Beltane.     "  As  how  ?  " 

Friar.     "  Forsooth  we  meditate  and  pray  — " 

Beltane.     "  And  eat !  " 

Friar.  "  Aye  verily,  we  do  a  little  in  that  way  as  the 
custom  is,  for  your  reverent  eater  begetteth  a  devout 
pray-er.  The  which  mindeth  me  I  grow  an  hungered,  yet 
will  I  forego  appetite  and  yield  thee  this  fair  pasty  for 
but  two  of  thy  gold  pieces.  And,  look  ye,  'tis  a  noble 
pasty  I  had  this  day  from  my  lord  Pertolepe's  own 
table." 

Beltane.  "  That  same  lord  that  showed  mercy  on 
yonder  poor  maimed  wretch?     Know  you  him?  " 

Friar.  "  In  very  sooth,  and  'tis  a  potent  lord  that 
holdeth  me  in  some  esteem,  a  most  Christian  knight  — " 

Beltane.  "  That  ravisheth  the  defenceless !  Whose 
hands  be  foul  with  the  blood  of  innocence  — " 

Friar.  "  How  —  how  ?  'Tis  a  godly  lord  who  giveth 
bounteously  to  Holy  Church — " 

Beltane.     "  Who  stealeth  from  the  poor  — " 

Friar.  "  Stealeth !  Holy  Saint  Dunstan,  dare  ye 
speak  thus  of  so  great  a  lord  —  a  son  of  the  Church,  a 
companion  of  our  noble  Duke?  Steal,  forsooth!  The 
poor  have  nought  to  steal !  " 

Beltane.     "  They  have  their  lives." 

Friar.  "  Not  so,  they  and  their  lives  are  their  lord's, 
'tis  so  the  law  and  — " 


68  Beltane  the  Smith 

Beltane.     "Whence  came  this  law?" 

Friar.     "  It  came,  youth  —  it  came  —  aye,  of  God !  " 

Beltane.     "  Say  rather  of  the  devil !  " 

Friar.  "  Holy  Saint  Michael  — 'tis  a  blasphemous 
youth !     Never  heard  ears  the  like  o'  this  — " 

Beltane.     "  Whence  cometh  poverty  and  famine  ?  " 

Friar.  "  'Tis  a  necessary  evil !  Doth  it  not  say  in 
Holy  Writ,  *  the  poor  ye  have  always  with  you  '  ?  " 

Beltane.  "  Aye,  so  shall  ye  ever  —  until  the  laws  be 
amended.      So  needs  must  men  starve  and  starve  — " 

Friar.  "  There  be  worse  things !  And  these  serfs  be 
born  to  starve,  bred  up  to  it,  and  'tis  better  to  starve 
here  than  to  perish  hereafter,  better  to  purge  the  soul  by 
lack  of  meat  than  to  make  of  it  a  fetter  of  the  soul !  " 

"Excellently  said,  holy  sir!"  quoth  Beltane,  stooping 
of  a  sudden.  "  But  for  this  pasty  now,  'tis  a  somewhat 
solid  fetter,  meseemeth,  so  now  do  I  free  thee  of  it  — 
thus ! "  So  saying,  my  Beltane  dropped  the  pasty  into 
the  deeper  waters  of  the  brook  and,  thereafter,  took  up 
liis  staff.  "  Sir  Friar,"  said  he,  "  behold  to-day  is  thy 
soul  purged  of  a  pasty  against  the  day  of  judgment  I'* 

Then  Beltane  went  on  beside  the  rippling  waters  of 
the  brook,  but  above  its  plash  and  murmur  rose  the  deep- 
toned  maledictions  of  Friar  Gui. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHEREIN  IS  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  FOLLY 
AND  THE  WISDOM  OF  A  FOOL 

As  the  day  advanced  the  sun  grew  ever  hotter;  birds 
chirped  drowsily  from  hedge  and  thicket,  and  the  warm, 
still  air  was  full  of  the  slumberous  drone  of  a  myriad  un- 
seen wings.  Therefore  Beltane  sought  the  deeper  shade 
of  the  woods  and,  risking  the  chance  of  roving  thief  or 
lurking  foot-pad,  followed  a  devious  course  by  reason  of 
the  underbrush. 

Now  as  he  walked  him  thus,  within  the  cool,  green  twi- 
light, watchful  of  eye  and  with  heavy  quarter-staff  poised 
upon  his  shoulder,  he  presently  heard  the  music  of  a  pipe 
now  very  mournful  and  sweet,  anon  breaking  into  a  merry 
lilt  full  of  rippling  trills  and  soft,  bubbling  notes  most 
pleasant  to  be  heard.  Wherefore  he  went  aside  and  thus, 
led  by  the  music,  beheld  a  jester  in  his  motley  lying 
a-sprawl  beneath  a  tree.  A  long-legged  knave  was  he, 
pinched  and  something  doleful  of  visage  yet  with  quick 
bright  eyes  that  laughed  'neath  sombre  brows,  and  a  wide, 
up-curving  mouth ;  upon  his  escalloped  cape  and  flaunt- 
ing cock's-comb  were  many  little  bells  that  rang  a  silvery 
chime  as,  up-starting  to  his  elbow,  he  greeted  my  Beltane 
thus: 

"  Hail,  noble,  youthful  Sir,  and  of  thy  sweet  and  gra- 
cious courtesy  I  pray  you  mark  me  this  —  the  sun  is  hot, 
my  belly  lacketh,  and  thou  art  a  fool !  " 

"And  wherefore?"  questioned  Beltane,  leaning  him 
upon  his  quarter-staff. 

"  For  three  rarely  reasonable  reasons,  sweet  sir,  as 
thus :  —  item,  for  that  the  sun  burneth,  item,  my  belly  is 


70  Beltane  the  Smith 

empty,  and  item,  thou,  lured  by  this  my  foolish  pipe  art 
hither  come  to  folly.  So  I,  a  fool,  do  greet  thee,  fool, 
and  welcome  thee  to  this  my  palace  of  ease  and  pleasaunce 
where,  an  ye  be  minded  to  list  to  the  folly  of  a  rarely 
foolish  fool,  I  will,  with  foolish  jape  and  quip,  befool  thy 
mind  to  mirth  and  jollity,  for  thou  art  a  sad  fool,  me- 
thinks,  and  something  melancholic !  " 

Quoth  Beltane,  sighing: 

"  'Tis  a  sad  world  and  very  sorrowful ! " 

*' Nay — 'tis  a  sweet  world  and  very  joyful  —  for  such 
as  have  eyes  to  see  withal !  " 

"To  see?"  quoth  Beltane,  frowning,  "this  day  have 
I  seen  a  dead  man  a-swing  on  a  tree,  a  babe  dead  beside 
its  cradle,  and  a  woman  die  upon  a  spear!  All  day  have 
I  breathed  an  air  befouled  by  nameless  evil ;  whithersoever 
I  go  needs  must  I  walk  'twixt  Murder  and  Shame !  " 

"  Then  look  ever  before  thee,  so  shalt  see  neither." 

"  Yet  will  they  be  there !  " 

"  Yet  doth  the  sun  shine  in  high  heaven,  so  must  these 
things  be  till  God  and  the  saints  shall  mend  them.  But  if 
thou  must  needs  be  doleful,  go  make  thee  troubles  of  thine 
own  but  leave  the  woes  of  this  wide  world  to  God !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Beltane,  shaking  his  head,  "  how  if  God 
leave  these  things  to  thee  and  me?  " 

"  Why  then  methinks  the  world  must  wag  as  it  will. 
Yet  must  we  repine  therefore?  Out  upon  thee  for  a  sober, 
long-legged,  doleful  wight.  Now  harkee !  Here  sit  I  — 
a  fool,  mark  these  bells !  And  a  hungry  fool !  A  penni- 
less fooll  A  fool  who  hath,  this  day,  been  driven  forth 
of  my  lord's  presence  with  blows  and  cruel  stripes !  And 
wherefore?  'Twas  for  setting  a  bird  free  of  its  cage,  a 
small  matter  methinks  —  though  there  be  birds  —  and 
birds,  but  mum  for  that !  Yet  do  I  grieve  and  sigh  there- 
fore, O  doleful  long-shanks  ?  Not  so  —  fie  on't !  I  blow 
away  my  sorrows  through  the  music  of  this  my  little  pipe 
and,  lying  here,  set  my  wits  a-dancing  and  lo !  I  am  a  duke, 
a  king,  a  very  god !  I  create  me  a  world  wherein  is  neither 
hunger  nor  stripes,  a  world  of  joy   and  laughter,  for. 


The  Philosophy^  of  Folly         7 1 

blessed  within  his  dreams,  even  a  fool  may  walk  with  gods 
and  juggle  with  the  stars!  " 

"Aye,"  nodded  Beltane,  "but  how  when  he  awake?" 

"  Why  then,  messire,"  laughed  the  fellow,  leaping  nim- 
bly to  his  feet,  "  why  then  doth  he  ask  alms  of  thee,  as 
thus :  Prithee  most  noble  messire,  of  thy  bounty  show 
kindness  to  a  fool  that  lacks  everything  but  wit.  So  give, 
messire,  give  and  spare  not,  so  may  thy  lady  prove  kind, 
thy  wooing  prosper  and  love  strengthen  thee." 

Now  when  the  jester  spake  of  love,  my  Beltane  must 
needs  sigh  amain  and  shake  a  doleful  head. 

"  Alas !  "  said  he,  "  within  my  life  shall  be  no  place  for 
love,  methinks." 

"Heigho!"  sighed  the  jester,  "thy  very  look  doth 
proclaim  thee  lover,  and  'tis  well,  for  love  maketh  the 
fool  wise  and  the  wise  fool,  it  changeth  saints  into  rogues 
and  rogues  into  saints,  it  teacheth  the  strong  man  gentle- 
ness and  maketh  the  gentle  strong.  'Tis  sweeter  than 
honey  yet  bitter  as  gall  —  Love !  ah,  love  can  drag  a 
man  to  hell  or  lift  him  high  as  heaven  1 " 

"  Aye  verily,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  I  once  did  dream  o£ 
such  a  love,  but  now  am  I  awake,  nor  will  I  dream  of  love 
again,  nor  rest  whiles  Lust  and  Cruelty  rule  this  sorrow- 
ful Duchy  — " 

"  Ha,  what  would  ye  then,  fond  youth.?  " 

"  I  am  come  to  smite  them  hence,"  said  Beltane,  clench- 
ing mighty  fists. 

"  How.f*  "  cried  the  jester,  wide  of  eye.     "  Alone.?  " 

"  Nay,  methinks  God  goeth  with  me.  Moreover,  I  have 
this  sword ! "  and  speaking.  Beltane  touched  the  hilt  of 
the  great  blade  at  his  side. 

"What  —  a  sword!"  scoffed  the  jester,  "think  ye  to 
mend  the  woes  of  thy  fellows  with  a  sword.?  Go  to,  thou 
grave-vis  aged,  youthful  fool !  I  tell  thee,  'tis  only  humour 
and  good  fellowship  can  mend  this  wretched  world,  and 
there  is  nought  so  lacking  in  humour  as  a  sword  —  unless 
it  be  your  prating  priest  or  mumbling  monk.  A  pope  in 
cap  and  bells,  now  —  aha,  there  would  be  a  world  indeed. 


72  Beltane  the  Smith 

a  world  of  joj  and  laughter!  No  more  gloom,  no  more 
bans  and  damnings  of  Holy  Church,  no  more  groaning  and 
snivelling  in  damp  cloister  and  mildewed  chapel,  no  more 
burnings  and  hangings  and  rackings  — " 

"  Yet,"  said  Beltane,  shaking  his  head,  "  jet  would 
kings  and  dukes  remain,  Christian  knights  and  godly  lords 
to  burn  and  hang  and  rack  the  defenceless." 

"  Aye,  Sir  Gravity,"  nodded  the  jester,  "  but  the 
Church  is  paramount  ever ;  set  the  pope  a-blowing  of  tunes 
upon  a  reed  and  kings  would  lay  by  their  sceptres  and 
pipe  too  and,  finding  no  time  or  lust  for  warring,  so  strife 
would  end,  swords  rust  and  wit  grow  keen.  And  wit, 
look  you,  biteth  sharper  than  sword,  laughter  is  more  en- 
during than  blows,  and  he  who  smiteth,  smiteth  only  for 
lack  of  wit.  So,  an  you  would  have  a  happy  world,  lay 
by  that  great  sword  and  betake  thee  to  a  little  pipe,  teach 
Snen  to  laugh  and  so  forget  their  woes.  Learn  wisdom  of 
a  fool,  as  thus:  'Tis  better  to  live  and  laugh  and  beget 
thy  kind  than  to  perish  by  the  sword  or  to  dangle  from  a 
tree.  Here  now  is  advice,  and  in  this  advice  thy  life,  thus 
in  giving  thee  advice  so  do  I  give  thee  thy  life.  And  I 
am  hungry.  And  in  thy  purse  is  money  wherewith  even 
a  fool  might  come  by  food.  And  youth  is  generous ! 
And  thou  art  very  young!  Come,  sweet  youthful  mes- 
sire,  how  much  for  thy  life  —  and  a  fool's  advice  ?  " 

Then  Beltane  smiled,  and  taking  out  one  of  his  three 
remaining  gold  pieces,  put  it  in  the  jester's  hand. 

*'  Fare  thee  well,  good  fool,"  said  he,  "  I  leave  thee  to 
thy  dreams ;  God  send  they  be  ever  fair  — " 

"Gold!"  cried  the  jester,  spinning  the  coin  upon  his 
thumb,  "  ha,  now  do  I  dream  indeed ;  may  thy  waking  be 
ever  as  joyous.  Farewell  to  thee,  thou  kind,  sweet,  youth- 
ful fool,  and  if  thou  must  hang  some  day  on  a  tree,  may 
every  leaf  voice  small  prayers  for  thy  gentle  soul !  " 

So  saying,  the  jester  nodded,  waved  aloft  his  bauble, 
and  skipped  away  among  the  trees.  But  as  Beltane  went, 
pondering  the  jester's  saying,  the  drowsy  stillness  was 
shivered  by  a  sudden,  loud  cry,  followed  thereafter  by  a 


The  Philosophy  of  Folly         "]  i^ 

clamour  of  fierce  shouting;  therefore  Beltane  paused  and 
turning,  beheld  the  jester  himself  who  ran  very  fleetly, 
yet  with  three  lusty  fellows  in  close  pursuit. 

"  Messire,"  panted  the  jester,  wild  of  eye  and  with  a 
trickle  of  blood  upon  his  pallid  face,  "  O  sweet  sir  —  let 
them  not  slay  me !  " 

Now  while  he  spake,  and  being  yet  some  way  off,  he 
tripped  and  fell,  and,  as  he  lay  thus  the  foremost  of  his 
pursuers,  a  powerful,  red-faced  man,  leapt  towards  him, 
whirling  up  his  quarter-staff  to  smite;  but,  in  that  mo- 
ment. Beltane  leapt  also  and  took  the  blow  upon  his  staff 
and  swung  it  aloft,  yet  stayed  the  blow,  and,  bestriding 
the  prostrate  jester,  spake  soft  and  gentle,  on  this  wise: 

"  Greeting  to  thee,  forest  fellow !  Thy  red  face  liketh 
me  well,  let  us  talk  together." 

But,  hereupon,  as  the  red-faced  man  fell  back,  staring 
in  amaze,  there  came  his  two  companions,  albeit  panting 
and  short  of  breath. 

"  What,  Roger,"  cried  one,  "  doth  this  fellow  withstand 
thee?" 

But  Roger  only  growled,  whiles  Beltane  smiled  upon  the 
three,  gentle-eyed,  but  with  heavy  quarter-staff  poised 
lightly  in  practised  hand ;  quoth  he : 

"  How  now,  would  ye  harm  the  fool?  'Tis  a  goodly 
fool  forsooth,  yet  with  legs  scarce  so  nimble  as  his  wit, 
and  a  tongue  —  ha,  a  golden  tongue  to  win  all  men  to 
humour  and  good  fellowship  — " 

"  Enough !  "  growled  red-faced  Roger,  "  Sir  Pertolepe's 
foresters  we  be,  give  us  yon  scurvy  fool  then,  that  we 
may  hang  him  out  of  hand." 

"  Nay,"  answered  Beltane,  "  first  let  us  reason  together, 
let  us  hark  to  the  wisdom  of  Folly  and  grow  wise  — " 

"  Ha,  Roger !  "  cried  one  of  the  men,  "  tap  me  this  tall 
rogue  on  his  golden  mazzard !  " 

"  Or,"  said  Beltane,  "  the  fool  shall  charm  thy  souls 
to  kindliness  with  his  pipe  — " 

"  Ho,  Roger !  "  cried  the  second  forester,  "  split  me  this 
tall  talker's  yellow  sconce,  now ! " 


74  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Come,"  growled  Roger,  threatening  of  mien,  "  yield 
us  the  fool,  'tis  an  arrant  knave  hath  angered  his  lord !  " 

"  What  matter  for  that,"  said  Beltane,  "  so  he  hath  not 
angered  his  God?  Come  now,  ye  be  hearty  fellows  and 
have  faces  that  might  be  honest,  tell  me,  how  long  will  ye 
serve  the  devil?  " 

"  Devil?     Ha,  what  talk  be  this?     We  serve  no  devil!  " 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  though  they  call  him  Per- 
tolepe  the  Red,  hereabouts." 

*'  Devil ! "  cried  Black  Roger  aghast.  And,  falling 
back  a  step  he  gaped  in  amaze  fi'om  Beltane  to  his  gaping 
fellows.  "  Devil,  forsooth !  "  he  gasped,  "  aha,  I've  seen 
many  a  man  hang  for  less  than  this  — " 

"  True,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  men  hang  for  small  matters 
here  in  Pentavalon,  and  to  hang  is  an  evil  death,  me- 
thinks !  " 

"  So,  so !  "  nodded  Black  Roger,  grim-smiling,  "  I've 
watched  them  kick  a  fair  good  while,  betimes !  " 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Beltane,  his  eyes  widening,  "  those  hands 
of  thine,  belike,  have  hanged  a  man  ere  this  ?  " 

"  Aye,  many  a  score.  Oho !  folk  know  Black  Roger's 
name  hereabouts.  I  carry  ever  a  noose  at  my  girdle 
here  —  behold  it !  "  and  he  showed  a  coil  of  rope  that 
swung  at  his  belt. 

Now  looking  from  the  man's  grim  features  to  this  mur- 
derous cord,  Beltane  blenched  and  shivered,  whereat  Black 
Roger  laughed  aloud,  and  pointed  a  scornful  finger. 

"  Look'ee,  'tis  fair,  good  rope  this,  and  well-tried,  and 
shall  bear  even  thy  great  carcase  sweetly  —  aye, 
sweetly  — " 

"  How  —  would'st  hang  me  also  ?  "  said  Beltane  faintly, 
and  the  heavy  quarter-staff  sagged  in  his  loosened  grip. 

"  Hang  thee  —  aye.  Thou  didst  withstand  us  with  this 
fool,  thou  hast  dared  miscall  our  lord  —  we  be  all  wit- 
nesses to  it.     So  now  will  we  — " 

But  swift  as  lightning-flash.  Beltane's  long  quarter-staff 
whirled  and  fell,  and,  for  all  his  hood  of  mail.  Black  Roger 
threw  wide  his  arms  and,  staggering,  fell  upon  his  face 


The  Philosophy  of  Folly         75 

and  so  lay ;  then,  fierce  and  grim,  he  had  leapt  upon  the 
other  two,  and  the  air  was  full  of  the  rattle  and  thud  of 
vicious  blows.  But  these  foresters  were  right  lusty  fel- 
lows and  they,  together,  beset  my  Beltane  so  furiously, 
right  and  left,  that  he  perforce  gave  back  'neath  their 
swift  and  grievous  blows  and,  being  overmatched,  turned 
and  betook  him  to  his  heels,  whereat  they,  incontinent, 
pursued  with  loud  gibes  and  fierce  laughter.  But  on  ran 
Beltane  up  the  glade  very  fleetly  yet  watchful  of  eye, 
until,  seeing  one  had  outstripped  his  fellow,  he  checked  his 
going  somewhat,  stumbling  as  one  that  is  spent,  whereat 
the  forester  shouted  the  louder  and  came  on  amain.  Then 
did  my  cunning  Beltane  leap  aside  and,  leaping,  turned 
and  smote  the  fellow  clean  and  true  upon  the  crown,  and, 
laughing  to  see  him  fall,  ran  in  upon  the  other  forester 
with  whirling  quarter-staff.  Now  tliis  fellow  seeing  him- 
self stand  alone,  stayed  not  to  abide  the  onset,  but  turn- 
ing about,  made  off  into  the  green.  Then  Beltane  leaned 
him,  panting,  upon  his  staff,  what  time  the  fallen  man 
got  him  unsteadily  to  his  legs  and  limped  after  his  com- 
rade ;  as  for  the  jester,  he  was  gone  long  since;  only  Black 
Roger  lay  upon  his  face  and  groaned  faintly,  ever  and 
anon.  Wherefore  came  Beltane  and  stood  above  him  as 
one  in  thought  and,  seeing  him  begin  to  stir,  took  from 
him  his  sword  and  coil  of  rope  and  loosing  off  his  sword- 
belt,  therewith  bound  his  hands  fast  together  and  so, 
dragged  him  'neath  a  tree  that  stood  hard  by.  Thus  when 
at  last  Black  Roger  opened  his  eyes,  he  beheld  Beltane 
standing  above  him  and  in  his  hand  the  deadly  rope. 
Now,  looking  from  this  to  the  desolation  about  him.  Black 
Roger  shivered,  and  gazing  up  into  the  stem  face  above, 
his  florid  cheek  grew  pale. 

"Master,"  said  he  hoarsely,  "what  would  ye?" 

"  I  would  do  to  thee  as  thou  hast  done  to  others." 

**  Hang  me  ?  " 

"  Aye !  "  quoth  Beltane,  and  setting  the  noose  about  his 
neck,  cast  the  rope  across  a  branch. 

"  Master,  how  shall  my  death  profit  thee  ?  " 


76  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  The  world  shall  be  the  better,  and  thy  soul  know  less 
of  sin,  mayhap." 

"  Master,"  said  Black  Roger,  stooping  to  wipe  sweat 
from  his  face  with  fettered  hands,  "  I  have  store  of  money 
set  by  — " 

But  Beltane  laughed  with  pallid  lips,  and,  pulling  upon 
the  rope,  dragged  Black  Roger,  choking,  to  his  feet. 

"  Master,"  he  gasped,  "  show  a  little  mercy  — " 

"  Hast  ever  shown  mercy  to  any  man  —  speak  me 
true ! " 

"  Alack !  —  no,  master !     And  yet  — " 

"  How  then  shall  ye  expect  mercy  ?  Thou  hast  burnt 
and  hanged  and  ravished  the  defenceless,  so  now  shall  be 
an  end  of  it  for  thee,  yet  —  O  mark  me  this,  thy  name 
shall  live  on  accursed  in  memory  long  after  thou'rt  but 
poor  dust." 

"  Aye,  there  be  many  alive  to  curse  Black  Roger  living, 
and  many  dead  to  curse  me  when  I'm  dead;  poor  Roger's 
soul  shall  find  small  mercy  hereafter,  methinks  —  ha,  I 
never  thought  on  this  !  " 

"  Thou  had'st  a  mother  — " 

"  Aye,  but  they  burned  her  for  a  witch  wTien  I  was  but 
a  lad.  As  for  me,  'tis  true  I've  hanged  men,  yet  I  was 
my  lord's  chief  verderer  and  did  but  as  my  lord  com- 
manded." 

"  A  man  hath  choice  of  good  or  evil." 

"  Aye.  So  now,  an  I  must  die  —  I  must,  but  O  master, 
say  a  prayer  for  me  —  my  sins  lie  very  heavy  — " 

But  Beltane,  trembling,  pulled  upon  the  rope  and  swung 
Black  Roger  writhing  in  nid-air;  then,  of  a  sudden,  loos- 
ing the  rope,  the  forester  fell  and,  while  he  lay  gasping. 
Beltane  stooped  and  loosed  the  rope  from  his  neck. 

"  What  now  ? "  groaned  the  forester,  wild-eyed, 
"  Sweet  Jesu  —  ah,  torture  me  not !  " 

"  Take  back  thy  life,"  said  Beltane,  "  and  I  pray  God 
that  henceforth  thou  shalt  make  of  it  better  use,  and  live 
to  aid  thy  fellows,  so  shall  they,  mayhap,  some  day  come 
to  bless  thy  memory." 


The  Philosophy  of  Folly         77 

Then  Black  Roger,  coming  feebly  to  his  knees,  looked 
about  him  as  one  that  wakes  upon  a  new  world,  and  hfted 
wide  eyes  from  green  earth  to  cloudless  sky. 

"  To  live !  "  quoth  he,  "  to  live !  "  And  so,  with  sudden 
gesture,  stooped  his  head  to  hide  his  face  'neath  twitching 
fingers. 

Hereupon  Beltane  smiled,  gentle-eyed,  yet  spake  not, 
and,  turning,  caught  up  his  staff  and  went  softly  upon 
his  way,  leaving  Black  Roger  the  forester  yet  upon  his 
knees. 


CHAPTER  X 

HOW  BELTANE  MADE  COMEADE  ONE  BLACK  ROGER  THAT 
WAS  A  HANGMAN 

The  sun  was  low  what  time  Beltane  came  to  a  shrine  that 
stood  beside  the  way,  where  was  a  grot  built  by  some 
pious  soul  for  the  rest  and  refreshment  of  wearied  travel- 
lers ;  and  here  also  was  a  crystal  spring  the  which,  bub- 
bling up,  fell  with  a  musical  plash  into  the  basin  hollowed 
within  the  rock  by  those  same  kindly  hands.  Here  Bel- 
tane stayed  and,  when  he  had  drunk  his  fill,  laid  him  down 
in  the  grateful  shade  and  setting  his  cloak  beneath  his 
head,  despite  his  hunger,  presently  fell  asleep.  When  he 
awoke  the  sun  was  down  and  the  world  was  become  a  place 
of  mystery  and  glooming  shadow ;  a  bird  called  plaintively 
afar  off  in  the  dusk,  the  spring  bubbled  softly  near  by,  but 
save  for  this  a  deep  silence  brooded  over  all  things ;  above 
the  gloom  of  the  trees  the  sky  was  clear,  where  bats 
wheeled  and  hovered,  and  beyond  the  purple  upland  an 
orbed  moon  was  rising. 

Now  as  Beltane  breathed  the  cool,  sweet  air  of  evening 
and  looked  about  him  drowsily,  he  suddenly  espied  a 
shadow  within  the  shadows,  a  dim  figure  —  yet  formidable 
and  full  of  menace,  and  he  started  up,  weapon  in  fist, 
whereupon  the  threatening  figure  stirred  and  spake: 

"  Master  — 'tis  I !  "  said  a  voice.  Then  Beltane  came 
forth  of  the  grot  and  stared  upon  Black  Roger,  grave- 
eyed. 

"  O  Hangman,"  said  he,  "where  Is  thy  noose?  " 

But  Roger  quailed  and  hung  his  head,  and  spake  with 
eyes  abased: 

"  Master,  I  burned  it,  together  with  my  badge  of  serv- 
ice." 


Black  Roger  79 

"  And  what  would  je  here  ?  " 

"  Sir,  I  am  a  masterless  man  henceforth,  for  an  I  hang 
not  men  for  Sir  Pertolepe,  so  will  Sir  Pertolepe  assuredly 
hang  me." 

"  And  fear  ye  death?  " 

*'  Messire,  I  —  have  hanged  many  men  and  —  there 
were  women  also !  I  have  cut  me  a  tally  here  on  my  belt, 
see  —  there  be  many  notches  —  and  every  notch  a  life. 
So  now  for  every  life  these  hands  have  taken  do  I  vow  to 
save  a  life  an  it  may  be  so,  and  for  every  life  saved  would 
I  cut  away  a  notch  until  my  belt  be  smooth  again  and  my 
soul  the  lighter." 

"  Why  come  ye  to  me.  Black  Roger?  " 

"  For  that  this  day,  at  dire  peril,  I  saw  thee  save  a 
fool.  Master.  So  now  am  I  come  to  thee  to  be  thy  man 
henceforth,  to  follow  and  serve  thee  while  life  remain." 

"  Why  look  now,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  mine  shall  be  a 
hard  service  and  a  dangerous,  for  I  have  mighty  wrongs 
to  set  aright." 

"  Ha!  belike  thou  art  under  some  vow  also,  master?  " 

"  Aye,  verily,  nor  will  I  rest  until  it  be  accompHshed  or 
I  am  slain.  For  mark  this,  lonely  am  I,  with  enemies  a 
many  and  strong,  yet  because  of  my  vow  needs  must  I 
smite  them  hence  or  perish  in  the  adventure.  Thus,  he 
that  companies  me  must  go  ever  by  desperate  ways,  and 
'tis  like  enough  Death  shall  meet  him  in  the  road." 

"  Master,"  quoth  Black  Roger,  "  this  day  have  ye 
shown  me  death  yet  given  me  new  life,  so  beseech  thee 
let  me  serve  thee  henceforth  and  aid  thee  in  this  thy 
vow." 

Now  hereupon  Beltane  smiled  and  reached  forth  his 
hand;  then  Black  Roger  falling  upon  his  knee,  touched 
the  hand  to  lip,  and  forehead  and  heart,  taking  him  for 
his  lord  henceforth,  and  spake  the  oath  of  fealty:  but 
when  he  would  have  risen.  Beltane  stayed  him : 

"  What,  Black  Roger,  thou  hast  sworn  fealty  and  obedi- 
ence to  me  —  now  swear  me  this  to  God :  —  to  hold  ever, 
and  abide  by,  thy  word:  to  shew  mercy  to  the  distressed 
and  to  shield  the  helpless  at  all  times !  " 


8o  Beltane  the  Smith 

And  when  he  had  sworn,  Black  Roger  rose  bright-eyed 
and  eager. 

"  Lord,"  said  he,  "  whither  do  we  go?  " 

"  Now,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  shew  me  where  I  may  eat,  for 
I  have  a  mighty  hunger." 

"  Forsooth,"  quoth  Roger,  scratching  his  chin,  "  Shal- 
lowford  village  lieth  but  a  bowshot  through  the  brush 
yonder  —  yet,  forsooth,  a  man  shall  eat  little  there,  me- 
thinks,  these  days." 

"Why  so.?" 

"  For  that  'twas  burned  down,  scarce  a  week  agone  — " 

"  Burned !  —  and  wherefore.?  " 

"  Lord  Pertolepe  fell  out  with  his  neighbour  Sir  Gilles 
of  Brandonmere  —  upon  the  matter  of  some  wench,  me- 
thinks  it  was  —  wherefore  came  Sir  Gilles'  men  by  night 
and  burned  down  Shallowford  with  twenty  hunting  dogs 
of  Sir  Pertolepe's  that  chanced  to  be  there:  whereupon 
my  lord  waxed  mighty  wroth  and,  gathering  his  company, 
came  into  the  demesne  of  Sir  Gilles  and  burned  down  divers 
manors  and  hung  certain  rogues  and  destroyed  two  vil- 
lages —  in  quittance." 

"  Ah  —  and  what  of  the  village  folk  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  they  were  but  serfs  for  the  most  part,  but  — 
for  Sir  Pertolepe's  dogs  —  twent}'  and  two  —  and  roasted 
alive,  poor  beasts !  " 

But  here  Black  Roger  checked  both  speech  and  stride, 
all  at  once,  and  stood  with  quarter-staff  poised  as  from 
the  depth  of  the  wood  came  the  sound  of  voices  and  fierce 
laughter. 

"  Come  away,  master,"  he  whispered,  "  these  should  be 
Sir  Pertolepe's  men,  methinks." 

But  Beltane  shook  his  head: 

"  I'm  fain  to  see  why  they  laugh,"  said  he,  and  speak- 
ing, stole  forward  soft-footed  amid  the  shadows;  and  so 
presently  parting  the  leaves,  looked  down  into  an  open 
dell  or  dingle  full  of  the  light  of  the  rising  moon;  light 
that  glinted  upon  the  steel  caps  and  hauberks  of  some 
score  men,  who  leaned  upon  pike  or  gisarm  about  one  who 


Black  Roger  8i 

sat  upon  a  fallen  tree  —  and  Beltane  saw  that  this  was 
Giles  the  Bowman.  But  the  arms  of  Giles  were  bound 
behind  his  back,  about  his  neck  hung  a  noose,  and  his 
face  showed  white  and  pallid  'neath  the  moon,  as,  lifting 
up  his  head,  he  began  to  sing: 

"  O  ne'er  shall  my  lust  for  the  bowl  decline. 
Nor  my  love  for  my  good  long  bow; 
For  as  bow  to  the  shaft  and  as  bowl  to  the  wine, 
Is  a—" 

The  rich  voice  was  strangled  to  a  gasping  sob  as  the 
rope  was  tightened  suddenly  about  the  singer's  brawny 
throat  and  he  was  swung,  kicking,  into  the  air  amid  the 
hoarse  gibes  and  laughter  of  the  men-at-arms.  But,  grim 
and  silent.  Beltane  leaped  down  among  them,  his  long 
blade  glittering  in  the  moonlight,  and  before  the  mighty 
sweep  of  it  they  fell  back,  crowding  upon  each  other  and 
confused ;  then  Beltane,  turning,  cut  asunder  the  cord  and 
Giles  Brabblecombe  fell  and  lay  'neath  the  shade  of  the 
tree,  wheezing  and  whimpering  in  the  grass. 

And  now  with  a  clamour  of  cries  and  fierce  rallying 
shouts,  the  men-at-arms,  seeing  Beltane  stand  alone,  set 
themselves  in  array  and  began  to  close  in  upon  him.  But 
Beltane,  facing  them  in  the  tender  moonlight,  set  the  point 
of  his  sword  to  earth  and  reached  out  his  mailed  hand  in 
salutation. 

"  Greeting,  brothers  !  "  said  he,  "  why  seek  ye  the  death 
of  this  our  brother.'*  Come  now,  suffer  him  to  go  his 
ways  in  peace,  and  God's  blessing  on  ye,  one  and  all." 

Now  at  this  some  laughed  and  some  growled,  and  one 
stood  forth  before  his  fellows  staring  upon  Beltane  'neath 
close-drawn,  grizzled  brows: 

"  'Tis  a  rogue,  and  shall  dance  for  us  upon  a  string ! " 
laughed  he. 

"  And  this  tall  fellow  with  him !  "  said  another. 

"  Aye,  aye,  let  us  hang  'em  together,"  cried  others. 

*'  Stay !  "  said  Beltane,  "  behold  here  money ;  so  now 
will  I  ransom  this  man's  life  of  ye.     Here  be  two  pieces 


82  Beltane  the  Smith 

of  gold,  'tis  my  all  —  yet  take  them  and  yield  me  his  life !  " 

Hereupon  the  men  fell  to  muttering  together  doubtfully, 
but  in  this  moment  the  grizzled  man  of  a  sudden  raised  a 
knotted  fist  and  shook  it  in  the  air. 

"  Ha !  "  cried  he,  pointing  to  Beltane,  "  look  ye,  Cuth- 
bert,  Rollo  —  see  ye  not  'tis  him  we  seek?  Mark  ye  the 
size  of  him,  his  long  sword  and  belt  of  silver  — 'tis  he  that 
came  upon  us  in  the  green  this  day  and  slew  our  comrade 
Michael.  Come  now,  let  us  hang  him  forthwith  and  share 
his  money  betwixt  us  after." 

Then  my  Beltane  sighed  amain,  and  sighing,  unsheathed 
his  dagger. 

"  Alas !  "  said  he,  "  and  must  we  shed  each  other's  blood 
forsooth?  Come  then,  let  us  slay  each  other,  and  may 
Christ  have  pity  on  our  souls !  " 

Thus  saying,  he  glanced  up  at  the  pale  splendour  of 
the  moon,  and  round  him  on  the  encircling  shadows  of  the 
woods  dense  and  black  beneath  the  myriad  leaves,  and  so, 
quick-eyed  and  poised  for  action,  waited  for  the  rush. 

And,  even  as  they  came  upon  him,  he  sprang  aside 
where  the  gloom  lay  blackest,  and  they  being  many  and 
the  clearing  small,  they  hampered  each  other  and  fell  into 
confusion ;  and,  in  that  moment,  Beltane  leapt  among 
them  and  smote,  and  smote  again,  now  in  the  moonlight, 
now  in  shadow;  leaping  quick- footed  from  the  thrust  of 
sword  and  pike,  crouching  'neath  the  heavy  swing  of  axe 
and  gisarm ;  and  ever  his  terrible  blade  darted  with  deadly 
point  or  fell  with  deep-biting  edge.  Hands  gripped  at 
him  from  the  gloom,  arms  strove  to  clasp  him,  but  his 
dagger-hand  was  swift  and  strong.  Pike  heads  leapt  at 
him  and  were  smitten  away,  axe  and  gisarm  struck,  yet 
found  him  not,  and  ever,  as  he  leapt,  he  smote.  And  now 
in  his  ears  were  cries  and  groans  and  other  hateful  sounds, 
and  to  his  nostrils  came  a  reek  of  sweating  flesh  and  the 
scent  of  trampled  grass ;  while  the  moon's  tender  light 
showed  faces  wild  and  fierce,  that  came  and  went,  now 
here  —  now  there ;  it  glinted  on  head-piece  and  ringed 
mail,   and  flashed  back   from  whirling   steel  —  a   round, 


Black  Roger  83 

placid  moon  that  seemed,  all  at  once,  to  burst  asunder  and 
vanish,  smitten  into  nothingness.  He  was  down  —  beaten 
to  his  knee,  deafened  and  half  blind,  but  struggling  to  his 
feet  he  staggered  out  from  the  friendly  shadow  of  the 
trees,  out  into  the  open.  A  sword,  hard-driven,  bent  and 
snapped  short  upon  his  triple  mail,  the  blow  of  a  gisarm 
half  stunned  him,  a  goring  pike-thrust  drove  him  reeling 
back,  yet,  ringed  in  by  death,  he  thrust  and  smote  with 
failing  arm.  Axe  and  pike,  sword  and  gisarm  hedged  him 
in  nearer  and  nearer,  his  sword  grew  suddenly  heavy  and 
beyond  his  strength  to  wield,  but  stumbling,  slipping, 
dazed  and  with  eyes  a-swim,  he  raised  the  great  blade 
aloft,  and  lifting  drooping  head,  cried  aloud  the  battle- 
cry  of  his  house  —  high  and  clear  it  rang  above  the  din : 

"  Arise !     Arise !     I  will  arise !  " 

And  even  In  that  moment  came  one  in  answer  to  the  cry, 
one  that  leapt  to  his  right  hand,  a  wild  man  and  hairy 
who  plied  a  gleaming  axe  and,  'twixt  each  stroke,  seemed, 
from  hairy  throat,  to  echo  back  the  cry : 

"  Arise !     Arise !  " 

And  now  upon  his  left  was  Black  Roger,  fierce-eyed  be- 
hind his  buckler.  Thereafter  a  voice  hailed  them  as  from 
far  away,  a  sweet,  deep  voice,  cheery  and  familiar  as  one 
heard  aforetime  in  a  dream,  and  betwixt  every  sentence 
came  the  twang  of  swift-drawn  bow-string. 

"  O  tall  brother,  fall  back !  O  gentle  paladin,  O  fair 
flower  of  lusty  fighters,  fall  back  and  leave  the  rest  to 
our  comrades,  to  me  and  my  good  bow,  here !  " 

So,  dazed  and  breathless,  came  Beltane  on  stumbling 
feet  and  leaned  him  gasping  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  tree 
whereby  stood  Giles  o'  the  Bow  with  arrows  planted  up- 
right in  the  sod  before  him,  the  which  he  snatched  and 
loosed  so  fast  'twas  a  wonder  to  behold.  Of  a  sudden  he 
uttered  a  shout  and,  setting  by  his  bow,  drew  sword,  and 
leaping  from  the  shadow,  was  gone. 

But,  as  for  Beltane,  he  leaned  a  while  against  the  tree 
as  one  who  is  very  faint;  yet  soon,  lifting  heavy  head, 
wondered  at  the  hush  of  all  things,  and  looking  toward 


84 


Beltane  the  Smith 


the  clearing  saw  it  empty  and  himself  alone;  therefore 
turned  he  thitherwards.  Now  as  he  went  he  stumbled  and 
his  foot  struck  a  something  soft  and  yielding  that  rolled 
before  him  in  the  shadow  out  —  out  into  the  full  brilliance 
of  the  moon,  and  looking  down,  he  beheld  a  mangled  head 
that  stared  up  at  him  wide-eyed  and  with  mouth  agape. 
Then  Beltane  let  fall  his  reeking  sword  and  staggering 
out  into  the  light,  saw  his  bright  mail  befouled  with 
clotted  blood,  and  of  a  sudden  the  world  went  black  about 
him  and  he  fell  and  lay  with  his  face  among  the  trampled 
grass. 

In  a  while  he  groaned  and  opened  his  eyes  to  find  Black 
Roger  bathing  his  face  what  time  Giles  o'  the  Bow  held 
wine  to  his  lips,  while  at  his  feet,  a  wild  figure  grim  and 
ragged,  stood  a  tall,  hairy  man  leaning  upon  a  blood- 
stained axe. 

"  Aha ! "  cried  the  bowman.  "  Come  now,  my  lovely 
fighter,  my  gentle  giant,  sup  this  — 'tis  life,  and  here  be- 
hold a  venison  steak  fit  for  Duke  Ivo's  self,  come  — " 

"  Nay,  first,"  says  Beltane,  sitting  up,  "  are  there  many 
hurt?" 

*'  Aye,  never  fear  for  that,  my  blood-thirsty  dove,  they 
be  all  most  completely  dead  save  one,  and  he  sore 
wounded,  laus  Deo,  amen!  " 

"Dead!"  cried  Beltane,  shivering,  "dead,  say  you?" 

"  Aye,  Sir  Paladin,  all  sweetly  asleep  in  Abraham's 
bosom.  We  three  here  accounted  for  some  few  betwixt 
us,  the  rest  fell  'neath  that  great  blade  o'  thine.  O  sweet 
Saint  Giles !  ne'er  saw  I  such  sword-work  —  point  and 
edge,  sa-ha !  And  I  called  thee  —  dove !  —  aye  '  dove  ' 
it  was,  I  mind  me.  O  blind  and  worse  than  blind!  But 
experientia  docet,  tall  brother !  " 

Now  hereupon  Beltane  bowed  his  head  and  clasping  his 
hands,  wrung  them. 

"  Sweet  Jesu  forgive  me !  "  he  cried,  "  I  had  not  meant 
to  slay  so  many !  " 

Then  he  arose  and  went  apart  and,  kneeling  among  the 
shadows,  prayed  long  and  fervently. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHICH  TELLS  HOW  THREE  MIGHTY  MEN  SWARE  FEALTY  TO 
BELTANE  :  AND  HOW  GOOD  FRIAR  MARTIN  DIGGED  A 
GRAVE  IN  THE  WILD 

Now  when  Beltane's  mighty  hunger  was  assuaged  he 
sat  —  his  aching  head  yet  ringing  with  the  blow  —  and 
stared  up  at  the  moon,  sad  and  wistful-eyed  as  one  full  of 
heaviness  the  while  Black  Roger  standing  beside  him  gazed 
askance  at  the  archer  who  sat  near  by  whistling  softly 
and  busied  with  certain  arrows,  cleaning  and  trimming 
them  ere  he  set  them  back  in  his  quiver.  And  presently 
Black  Roger  spake  softly,  low-stooping  to  Beltane's  ear: 

"  Lord,  we  have  saved  the  life  of  yon  prating  archer- 
fellow,  and  behold  my  belt  lacketh  for  one  notch,  which  is 
well.  So  come,  let  us  go  our  ways,  thou  and  I,  for  I  love 
not  your  talkers,  and  this  fellow  hath  overmuch  to  say." 

But  now,  ere  Beltane  could  make  reply,  came  the  hairy 
man  —  but  behold  his  rags  had  given  place  to  fair  gar- 
ments of  tanned  leather  (albeit  something  small)  together 
with  steel  cap  and  shirt  of  ringed  mail,  and,  about  his 
middle,  a  broad  belt  where  swung  a  heavy  sword;  being 
come  to  Beltane  he  paused  leaning  upon  his  axe,  and 
gazed  upon  him  fierce-eyed: 

"  Messire,"  said  he,  "  who  ye  are  I  know  not,  what  ye 
are  I  care  not,  for  art  quick  of  foot  and  mighty  of  arm, 
and  when  ye  fight,  cry  a  point  of  war,  a  battle-shout  I 
knew  aforetime  ere  they  enslaved  and  made  of  me  a  serf  — 
and  thus  it  is  I  would  follow  thee." 

Quoth  Beltane,  his  aching  head  upon  his  hand: 

"Whither?" 

"  To  death  if  needs  be,  for  a  man  must  die  soon  or 
late,  yet  die  but  once  whether  it  be  by  the  steel,  or  flame, 


86  Beltane  the  Smith 

or  rope.  So  what  matter  the  way  of  it,  if  I  may  stand 
with  this  my  axe  face  to  face  with  Gilles  of  Brandonmere, 
or  Red  Pertolepe  of  Garthlaxton  Keep:  'twas  for  this  I 
followed  his  foresters." 

*'  Who  and  whence  are  you  ?  " 

"  Walkyn  o'  the  Dene  they  call  me  hereabouts  —  though 
I  had  another  name  once  —  but  'twas  long  ago,  when  I 
marched,  a  lad,  'neath  the  banner  of  Beltane  the  Strong !  " 

"  What  talk  be  this?  "  grunted  Black  Roger,  threaten- 
ing of  mien,  "  my  lord  and  I  be  under  a  vow  and  must 
begone,  and  want  no  runaway  serf  crawling  at  our 
heels !  " 

"Ha!"  quoth  Walkyn,  "spake  I  to  thee,  hangman? 
Forsooth,  well  do  I  know  thee,  Roger  the  Black:  come  ye 
into  the  glade  yonder,  so  will  I  split  thy  black  poll  for 
thee  —  thou  surly  dog !  " 

Forth  leapt  Black  Roger's  sword,  back  swung  Walkyn's 
glittering  axe,  but  Beltane  was  between,  and,  as  they  stood 
thus  came  Giles  o'  the  Bow: 

*'  Oho !  "  he  laughed,  "  must  ye  be  at  it  yet  ?  Have  we 
not  together  slain  of  Sir  Pertolepe's  foresters  a  round 
score? — " 

"  'Twas  but  nineteen ! "  growled  Roger,  frowning  at 
Walkyn. 

"  So  will  I  make  of  this  hangman  the  twentieth !  "  said 
Walkyn,  frowning  at  Roger. 

"  'Tis  a  sweet  thought,"  laughed  the  archer,  "  to  it, 
lads,  and  slay  each  other  as  soon  as  ye  may,  and  my 
blessings  on  ye.  As  for  us,  Sir  Paladin,  let  us  away  — 
'tis  true  we  together  might  give  check  to  an  army,  yet, 
minding  Sir  Pertolepe's  nineteen  foresters,  'twere  wiser  to 
hie  us  from  Sir  Pertolepe's  country  for  the  nonce:  so 
march,  tall  brother  —  march !  " 

"  Ha ! "  snarled  Walkyn,  "  fear  ye  Red  Pertolepe  yet, 
bowman?  Well,  we  want  ye  not,  my  lord  and  I,  he  hath 
a  sword  and  I  an  axe  —  they  shall  suffice  us,  mayhap,  an 
Pertolepe  come.  So  hie  thee  hence  with  the  hangman  and 
save  thy  rogue's  skin." 


How  Three  Men  Sware  Fealty      87 

*'  And  may  ye  dangle  in  a  noose  yet  for  a  prating  do- 
nothing  !  "  growled  Roger. 

"  Oho !  "  laughed  Giles,  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth,  "  a 
hangman  and  a  serf  —  must  I  slay  both?"  But,  ere  he 
could  draw  sword,  came  a  voice  from  the  shadows  near 
iby  —  a  deep  voice,  clear  and  very  sweet : 

"  Oh,  children,"  said  the  voice,  "  oh,  children  of  God, 
put  up  your  steel  and  pray  for  one  whose  white  soul  doth 
mount  e'en  now  to  heaven !  "  and  forth  into  the  light  came 
one  clad  as  a  white  friar  —  a  tall  man  and  slender,  and 
upon  his  shoulder  he  bare  a  mattock  that  gleamed  beneath 
the  moon.  His  coarse,  white  robe,  frayed  and  worn,  was 
stained  with  earth  and  the  green  of  grass,  and  was 
splashed,  here  and  there,  with  a  darker  stain ;  pale  was 
he,  and  hollow-cheeked,  but  with  eyes  that  gleamed  'neath 
black  brows  and  with  chin  long  and  purposeful.  Now  at 
sight  of  him,  fierce-eyed  Walkyn  cried  aloud  and  flung 
aside  his  axe  and,  falling  on  his  knees,  caught  the  friar's 
threadbare  robe  and  kissed  it. 

"  Good  brother !  "  he  groaned,  "  O,  gentle  brother  Mar- 
tin, pity  me !  " 

"What,  Walkyn?"  quoth  the  friar.  "What  do  ye 
thus  equipped  and  so  far  from  home?  " 

"  Home  have  I  none,  henceforth,  O  my  father." 

"Ah!  What  then  of  thy  wife,  Truda  — of  thy  little 
son  ?  " 

"  Dead,  my  father.  Red  Pertolepe's  men  slew  them 
this  day  within  the  green.  So,  when  I  had  buried  them, 
I  took  my  axe  and  left  them  with  God:  yet  shall  my  soul 
go  lonely,  methinks,  until  my  time  be  come." 

Then  Friar  Martin  reached  out  his  hand  and  laid  it 
upon  Walkyn's  bowed  head ;  and,  though  the  hand  was 
hard  and  toil-worn,  the  touch  of  it  was  ineffably  gentle, 
and  he  spake  with  eyes  upraised  to  heaven : 

"  O  Christ  of  Pity,  look  down  upon  this  stricken  soul, 
be  Thou  his  stay  and  comfort.  Teach  him,  in  his  grief 
and  sorrow,  to  pity  the  woes  of  others,  that,  in  comfort- 
ing his  fellows,  he  may  himself  find  comfort." 


88  Beltane  the  Smith 

Now  when  the  prayer  was  ended  he  turned  and  looked 
upon  the  others,  and,  beholding  Beltane  in  his  might 
and  glittering  mail,  he  spake,  saluting  him  as  one  of 
rank. 

*'  Sir  Knight,"  said  he,  "  do  these  men  follow  thee  ?  " 

"  Aye,  verily,"  cried  the  archer,  "  that  do  I  in  sooth  — 
Verbum  sat  sapienti  —  good  friar." 

"  Not  so,"  growled  Roger,  "  'tis  but  a  pestilent  archer 
that  seeketh  but  base  hire.  I  only  am  my  lord's  man, 
sworn  to  aid  him  in  his  vow." 

"  I  also,"  quoth  Walkyn,  "  an  so  my  lord  wills.?  " 

"  So  shall  it  be,"  sighed  Beltane,  his  hand  upon  his 
throbbing  brow. 

"  And  what  have  ye  in  mind  to  do  ?  " 

"  Forsooth,"  cried  Giles,  "  to  fight,  good  friar,  manibus 
pedibtbsque." 

"  To  obey  my  lord,"  said  Roger,  "  and  speak  good 
Saxon  English." 

"  To  adventure  my  body  in  battle  with  joyful  heart," 
quoth  Walkyn. 

"  To  make  an  end  of  tyranny  1 "  sighed  Beltane. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  the  friar,  "  within  this  doleful  Duchy  be 
tyrants  a  many,  and  ye  are  but  four,  meseemeth;  yet  if 
within  your  hearts  be  room  for  pity  —  follow  me,  and  I 
will  show  you  a  sight,  mayhap  shall  nerve  you  strong  as 
giants.     Come !  " 

So  Beltane  followed  the  white  friar  with  the  three  upon 
his  heels  who  wrangled  now  no  more ;  and  in  a  while  the 
friar  paused  beside  a  new-digged  grave. 

"  Behold,"  said  he,  "  the  bed  where  we,  each  one,  must 
sleep  some  day,  and  yet  'tis  cold  and  hard,  methinks,  for 
one  so  young  and  tender !  "  So  saying  he  sighed,  and 
turning,  brought  them  to  a  hut  near  by,  an  humble  dwell- 
ing of  mud  and  wattles,  dim-lighted  by  a  glimmering  rush. 
But,  being  come  within  the  hut  Beltane  stayed  of  a  sudden 
and  held  his  breath,  staring  wide-eyed  at  that  which  lay 
so  still:  then,  baring  his  head,  sank  upon  his  knees. 

She  lay  outstretched  upon  a  bed  of  fern,  and  looked  as 


How  Three  Men  Sware  Fealty      89 

one  that  sleeps  save  for  the  deathly  pallor  of  her  cheek 
and  still  and  pulseless  bosom:  and  she  was  young,  and  of 
a  wondrous,  gentle  beauty. 

"  Behold,"  said  the  friar,  "  but  one  short  hour  agone 
this  was  alive  —  a  child  of  God,  pure  of  heart  and  un- 
defiled.  These  gentle  hands  lie  stilled  forever:  this  sweet, 
white  body  (O  shame  of  men!)  blasted  by  brutality, 
maimed  and  torn  —  is  nought  but  piteous  clay  to  moulder 
in  the  year.  Yet  doth  her  radiant  soul  lie  on  the  breast 
of  God  forever,  since  she,  for  honour,  died  the  death  — 
Behold !  "  So  saying,  the  friar  with  sudden  hand  laid 
bare  the  still  and  marble  bosom;  and,  beholding  the  red 
horror  wrought  there  by  cruel  steel.  Beltane  rose  up,  and 
taking  off  his  cloak,  therewith  reverently  covered  the  pale, 
dead  beauty  of  her,  and  so  stood  awhile  with  eyes  close 
shut  and  spake,  soft-voiced  and  slow,  'twixt  pallid 
lips: 

"  How  —  came  this  —  thing?  " 

"  She  was  captive  to  Sir  Pertolepe,  by  him  taken  in  a 
raid,  and  he  would  have  had  her  to  his  will:  yet,  by  aid 
of  my  lord's  jester,  she  escaped  and  fled  hither.  But  Sir 
Pertolepe's  foresters  pursued  and  took  her  and  —  so  is  she 
dead :  may  God  requite  them !  " 

"  Amen ! "  quoth  Giles  o'  the  Bow,  hoarse-voiced,  "  so 
do  they  all  lie  dead  within  the  green ! " 

"  Save  one !  "  said  Roger. 

"  But  he  sore  wounded !  "  quoth  Walkyn. 

"  How !  "  cried  the  friar  aghast,  "  have  ye  indeed  slain 
Sir  Pertolepe's  foresters  ?  " 

"  Nineteen !  "  nodded  Roger,  grimly. 

"  Alas !  "  cried  the  friar,  "  may  God  save  the  poor  folk 
hereabouts,  for  now  will  Sir  Pertolepe  wreak  vengeance 
dire  upon  them." 

"  Then,"  said  Beltane,  "  then  must  I  have  word  with 
Sir  Pertolepe." 

Now  when  he  said  this.  Black  Roger  stared  agape  and 
even  the  archer's  tongue  failed  him  for  once ;  but  Walkyn 
smiled  and  gripped  his  axe. 


90  Beltane  the  Smith 

"Art  mad,  tall  brother!"  cried  Giles  at  length,  "Sir 
Pertolepe  would  hang  thee  out  of  hand,  or  throw  thee  to 
his  dogs !  " 

"  Lord,"  said  Roger,  "  Sir  Pertolepe  hath  ten  score 
men-at-arms  in  Garthlaxton,  beside  bowmen  and  for- 
esters." 

"  There  should  be  good  work  for  mine  axe !  "  smiled 
Walkyn. 

"  None  the  less  must  I  speak  with  him,"  said  Beltane, 
and  turned  him  to  the  door. 

"  Then  will  I  die  with  thee,  lord,"  growled  Roger. 

*'  So  will  I  come  and  watch  thee  die  —  hangman,  and 
loose  a  shaft  or  two  on  mine  own  account !  " 

But  now,  of  a  sudden,  Walkyn  raised  a  warning  hand. 

*'  Hark !  "  said  he :  and,  in  a  while,  as  they  listened, 
upon  the  stillness  came  a  rustle  of  leaves  and  thereafter 
a  creeping  step  drawing  slowly  nearer:  then  swift  and 
soft-treading,  Walkyn  stole  out  into  the  shadows. 

Very  soon  he  returned,  leading  a  woman,  pale  and  hag- 
gard, who  clasped  a  babe  within  her  threadbare  cloak; 
her  eyes  were  red  and  sore  with  much  weeping  and  upon 
the  threshold  she  paused  as  one  in  sudden  fear,  but  espying 
the  friar,  she  uttered  a  cry: 

"  O  Father  Martin  —  good  father  —  pray,  pray  for 
the  soul  of  him  who  is  father  to  my  child,  but  who  at  dawn 
must  die  with  many  others  upon  my  lord  Duke's  great  gal- 
lows !  " 

"  Alas !  "  cried  the  friar,  wringing  his  hands,  "  what 
news  is  this?  " 

"  O  good  friar,"  sobbed  the  woman,  "  my  lord's  hand 
hath  been  so  heavy  upon  us  of  late  —  so  heavy :  and  there 
came  messengers  from  Thrasfordham  in  Bourne  bidding 
us  thither  with  fair  promises :  —  and  my  father,  being 
head  of  our  village,  hearkened  to  them  and  we  made  ready 
to  cross  into  Bourne.  But  my  lord  came  upon  us  and 
burned  our  village  of  Shallowford  and  lashed  my  father 
with  whips  and  thereafter  hanged  him,  and  took  my  man 
and  many  others  and  cast  them  into  the  great  dungeon  at 


How  Three  Men  Sware  Fealty     91 

Belsaye  —  and  with  the  dawn  they  must  hang  upon  the 
Duke's  great  gallows." 

So  she  ended  and  stood  weeping  as  one  that  is  hopeless 
and  weary.  But  of  a  sudden  she  screamed  and  pointed 
at  Black  Roger  with  her  finger: 

"  'Tis  Roger !  "  she  cried,  "  'tis  Black  Roger,  that  slew 
my  father !  " 

Then  Roger  the  Black  groaned  and  hid  his  face  within 
his  arm  and  shrank  before  the  woman's  outstretched  finger 
and,  groaning,  cowered  to  his  knees ;  whereupon  the  archer 
turned  his  back  and  spat  upon  the  floor  while  Walkyn 
glared  and  fingered  his  great  axe:  but  in  this  moment  my 
Beltane  came  beside  him  and  laid  his  hand  on  Roger's 
stooping  shoulder. 

"  Nay,"  said  he,  "  this  is  my  friend  henceforth,  a  man 
among  men,  who  liveth  to  do  great  things  as  thus :  To- 
night he  will  give  back  to  thee  the  father  of  thy  child,  and 
break  open  the  dungeon  of  Belsaye !  " 

Thus  spake  my  Beltane  while  all  stared  at  his  saying 
and  held  their  peace  because  of  their  amaze:  only  Black 
Roger  turned  of  a  sudden  and  caught  his  hand  and  kissed 
it  savagely. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  woman,  peering  up  in  Beltane's  face, 
*'  Lord  —  ah,  would  ye  mock  the  weak  and  helpless  — " 

"  Nay,"  said  Beltane  gently,  "  as  God  seeth  me,  to-night 
the  prisoners  shall  go  free,  or  this  man  and  I  die  with 
them.  So  now  be  comforted  —  go  you  to  Bourne,  to  Sir 
Benedict  within  Thrasfordham  Keep,  and  say  you  come 
from  Beltane,  Duke  of  Pentavalon,  who  swore  thee,  by 
the  honour  of  the  Duke  Beltane  his  father,  that  never 
again  shall  a  man  hang  from  the  great  gallows  of  Black 
Ivo  the  usurper  —  from  this  night  it  shall  cease  to  be !  '* 

Now  would  the  woman  have  knelt  and  kissed  his  hand, 
but  Beltane  smiled  and  brought  her  to  the  door.  Then, 
wondering  and  amazed,  she  made  her  obeisance  to  Beltane 
and  with  her  babe  clasped  to  her  bosom  went  forth  into 
the  night.  Thereafter  Beltane  turned  and  looked  grave- 
eyed  upon  the  three. 


92  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  My  masters,"  quoth  he,  "  ye  have  heard  my  words, 
how  this  night  I  go  to  take  down  Black  Ivo's  great  gal- 
lows.     Come  ye  with  me?     Aye  or  no?  " 

"  Aye,  lord !  "  cried  the  three  in  one  acclaim. 

"  Do  ye  then  stand  with  me  henceforth  'gainst  Black  Ivo 
and  all  his  might?     Aye  or  no?  " 

"  Aye,  lord !  "  cried  they  again. 

Then  Beltane  smiled  and  drew  his  sword  and  came  to 
them,  the  great  blade  gleaming  in  his  hand. 

"  'Tis  well ! "  said  he,  "  but  first  come  now  and  lay 
your  hands  here  upon  my  sword  and  swear  me  this,  each 
one, —  To  follow  ever  where  I  shall  lead,  to  abide  hence- 
forth in  brotherhood  together,  to  smite  evil  within  you  and 
without,  to  be  pitiful  to  the  weak,  and  to  honour  God  at 
all  times." 

Then  did  the  three,  being  upon  their  knees,  lay  their 
hands  upon  the  sword  and  swear  the  oath  as  Beltane  com- 
manded; now  came  the  white  friar  and  stared  upon  the 
sword  and  beholding  the  motto  graven  in  the  steel,  lifted 
up  his  hand  to  heaven  and  cried  aloud :  — 

"  Now  greeting  and  fair  greeting  to  thee,  lord  Duke, 
may  thy  body  be  strong  for  war  and  thy  head  wise  in  the 
council,  for  Pentavalon  hath  dire  need  of  thee,  Beltane, 
son  of  Duke  Beltane  the  Strong.  Moreover  I  was  sent 
to  thee  by  Sir  Benedict  of  Bourne  who  bids  thee  '  Arise 
and  follow  '  for  that  the  time  is  at  hand." 

"  How,"  cried  Beltane,  "  art  thou  indeed  from  Sir 
Benedict?" 

"  Even  so,  lord.  In  Thrasfordham  be  seven  hundred 
chosen  men-at-arms,  and  within  Bourne,  mayhap  a  thou- 
sand more.  It  is  become  a  haven  for  those  that  flee  from 
tyranny  and  bitter  wrong.  As  for  me,  I  journey  where 
I  will  within  the  Duchy,  serving  the  poor  and  ministering 
to  the  broken-hearted,  and  everywhere  is  black  sin  and 
suffering  and  death.  So  now  in  the  name  of  these  op- 
pressed do  I  give  thee  welcome  to  this  thy  sorrowful 
Duchy,  and  may  God  make  of  thee  Duke  indeed !  " 

Quoth  Beltane: 


How  Three  Men  Sware  Fealty      93 

"  Duke  am  I  in  blood  and  Duke  will  I  yet  be  in  very 
sooth  an  God  so  will  it."  Then  turning  to  the  three,  who 
stood  hearkening  open-mouthed  and  wide  of  eye,  he  smiled 
and  reached  to  them  his  hand. 

"  Good  friends,"  said  he,  "  knowing  nought  of  me  yet 
were  ye  willing  to  follow  my  fortunes.  For  this  do  I 
thank  ye  one  and  all,  and  so  shall  my  fortune,  high  or  low, 
be  thine,  henceforth.  To-day  is  Ivo  Duke,  and  I  thy  com- 
panion-in-arms, no  more,  no  less  —  this,  I  praj^  you  all, 
remember." 

So  saying,  Beltane  sheathed  his  sword  and  beholding 
Friar  Martin  on  his  knees  beside  that  muffled  figure,  he 
knelt  also,  and  the  three  with  him.  Thereafter  at  a  sign 
from  the  friar,  Beltane  stooped  and  raised  this  slender, 
shrouded  figure  in  his  arms  and  reverently  bore  it  out  into 
the  shadows. 

And  there,  all  in  the  tender  radiance  of  the  moon,  they 
buried  her  whose  name  they  never  knew,  and  stood  a  while 
in  silence.  Then,  pointing  to  the  new-turned  earth,  Friar 
Martin  spake  soft-voiced: 

"  Lo,  here  —  in  but  a  little  time,  wild  flowers  shall 
bloom  above  her  —  yet  none  purer  or  sweeter  than  she ! 
In  a  little  shall  the  grass  be  green  again,  and  she  sleep 
here  forgot  by  all  —  save  God !  And  God,  my  brothers, 
is  a  gentle  God  and  very  pitiful  —  so  now  do  we  leave  her 
in  God's  abiding  care." 

And  presently  they  turned,  soft-footed,  and  went  upon 
their  way  leaving  the  place  to  solitude. 

But  from  the  vault  of  heaven  the  stars  looked  down 
upon  that  lonely  grave  like  the  watching  eyes  of  holy 
angels. 


CHAPTER  Xn 

WHICH   TELLS  HOW  DUKE  IVO's  GREAT  GALLOWS 
CEASED   TO   BE 

Scarce  a  mile  without  the  walls  of  the  fair  city  of  Belsaye 
my  lord  Duke  had  builded  him  a  great  gallows,  had  set  it 
high  upon  a  hill  for  all  the  world  to  see ;  from  whose  lofty 
cross-beams  five  score  rogues  had  hanged  ere  now,  had 
writhed  and  kicked  their  lives  away  and  rotted  there  In 
company,  that  all  the  world  might  know  how  potent  was 
the  anger  of  my  lord  Duke  Ivo. 

Day  in,  day  out,  from  rosy  mom  till  dewy  eve,  it 
frowned  upon  Belsaye,  a  thing  of  doom  whose  grim  sight 
should  warn  rebellious  townsfolk  to  dutiful  submission; 
by  night  it  loomed,  a  dim-seen,  brooding  horror,  whose 
loathsome  reek  should  mind  them  how  all  rogues  must  end 
that  dared  lift  hand  or  voice  against  my  lord  Duke,  or 
those  proud  barons,  lords,  and  knights  who,  by  his  pleas- 
ure, held  their  fiefs  with  rights  of  justice,  the  high,  the 
middle  and  the  low. 

Day  in,  day  out,  the  men  of  Belsaye  eyed  it  askance 
'neath  scowling  brows  and,  by  night,  many  a  clenched 
hand  was  shaken  and  many  a  whispered  malediction  sped, 
toward  that  thing  of  doom  that  menaced  them  from  the 
dark. 

To-night  the  moon  was  full,  and  thus,  following  Friar 
Martin's  bony  outstretched  finger.  Beltane  of  a  sudden 
espied  afar  the  Duke's  great  gallows,  rising  grisly  and 
stark  against  the  moon's  round  splendour.  So  for  a 
space,  standing  yet  within  the  shade  of  the  woods,  Beltane 
stared  fierce-eyed,  the  while  Giles,  with  Roger  at  his  elbow, 
pointed  out  divers  shapes  that  dangled  high  in  air,  at 
sight  of  which  the  friar  knelt  with  bowed  head  and  lips 


How  Ivo's  Gallows  Ceased  to  Be     95 

that  moved  in  prayer :  and  Walkyn,  scowling,  muttered  in 
his  beard. 

"  Messire,"  said  the  archer,  "  my  lord  Duke's  gallows 
is  great  and  very  strong,  and  we  but  five  all  told !  " 

"  I  have  mine  axe !  "  quoth  Walkyn. 

"  Had  we  fifty  axes  we  scarce  should  bring  it  down  ere 
dawn :  moreover,  the  night  is  very  still  and  sounds  carry 
far  — " 

"  Nathless,"  quoth  Roger,  "  to-night  we  surely  shall  de- 
stroy it  —  my  lord  hath  said  so." 

"  Aye  —  but  how.?  "  questioned  Giles.  "  In  Belsaye  is 
that  pale  fox  Sir  Gui  of  Allerdale  with  many  trusty  men- 
at-arms  to  hold  the  town  for  Black  Ivo  and  teach  Belsaye 
its  duty:  how  may  we  destroy  my  lord  Duke's  gallows 
'neath  the  very  beards  of  my  lord  Duke's  garrison,  wilt 
tell  me  that,  my  good,  Black  Rogerkin?  " 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Roger,  "  that  will  I  —  when  I  have 
asked  my  lord."  So  saying,  he  came  and  touched  Beltane 
and  humbly  put  the  question. 

Then,  with  his  gaze  yet  upon  the  gallows,  Beltane  sighed 
and  answered: 

"  There  hath  been  no  rain  for  weeks,  look  you :  the 
underbrush  is  dry,  raethinks,  and  should  burn  well !  " 

*'  Aye,  for  sure,"  said  Roger,  "  we  shall  bum  Black 
Ivo's  gallows  to  ashes,  bowman,  and  a  good  end  'twill  be." 

"  By  fire !  "  cried  the  archer,  aghast,  "  but  lord,  so  soon 
as  they  shall  see  the  flames.  Sir  Gui  and  his  men  will  sally 
out  upon  us !  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Beltane,  "  for  we  shall  sally  in." 

"  Into  Belsaye,  mean  you,  lord?  " 

"  Certes,"  answered  Beltane,  "  how  else  may  we  break 
open  the  dungeon?  The  night  is  young  yet,  but  we  have 
much  to  do  —  follow !  "  So  saying,  Beltane  turned  and 
keeping  ever  within  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  set  off  towards 
that  distant  hill  where  stood  the  gallows,  black  against 
the  moon. 

Swiftly  they  went  and  for  the  most  part  in  silence,  for 
Beltane's  mind  was  busied  upon  many  matters. 


96 


Beltane  the  Smith 


So  betimes  they  climbed  the  hill  and  stood  at  last 
beneath  the  gallows,  and,  glancing  up,  Beltane  beheld 
noisome  shapes,  black  and  shrivelled,  that  once  had  lived 
and  laughed.  Forthwith  he  drew  his  sword  and  fell  to 
cutting  down  the  brush,  whereat  friar  Martin,  gird- 
ing up  his  frock,  took  Walkyn's  sword  and  fell  to  like- 
wise. 

Now,  as  Beltane  laboured  thus,  he  was  suddenly  aware 
of  a  wild  and  ragged  figure,  the  which  started  up  before 
him  as  if  from  the  very  ground.  An  old  man  he  was,  bent 
with  years,  yet  with  eyes  that  burned  fierce  and  undimmed 
'neath  hoary  brows,  and  shrivelled  hands  that  gripped 
upon  a  rusty  sword. 

"  Who  are  ye,"  he  cried,  harsh-voiced,  "  who  are  ye 
that  disturb  this  woeful  place  ?  'Tis  here  that  men  are 
dragged  to  die  —  and,  being  dead,  do  hang  i'  the  air  to 
rot  and  rot  —  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale  of  wolves  that 
howl  and  birds  that  shriek,  aha !  —  carrion  crows  and 
hook-billed  kites  —  they  be  well  gorged  since  Ivo  came. 
'  Caw ! '  they  cry,  '  caw ! ' —  soft  child's  flesh  and  the  flesh 
of  tender  maids  —  aha  !  —  I  know  —  I've  watched  —  I've 
seen !  Ah !  since  my  lord  Duke  Beltane  died,  what  sights 
these  eyes  have  seen !  " 

"  Old  man,"  quoth  Beltane,  bending  near,  "  who  art 
thou?" 

"  I  am  the  ghost  that  haunts  this  place,  but,  ages  since, 
I  was  Sir  Robert  Bellesme  of  Garthlaxton  Keep.  But 
my  wife  they  slew,  my  daughter  ravished  from  me  —  and 
my  son  —  Ah  !  Christ  —  my  son !  They  hanged  him 
here  —  yonder  he  hung,  and  I,  his  father,  watched  him 
die.  But,  by  night,  when  all  was  still,  I  crept  hither  and 
found  a  hole  to  shelter  me.  And  here  I  stayed  to  watch 
over  him  —  my  son  who  hung  so  quiet  and  so  still.  And 
the  rough  wind  buffeted  him,  the  cruel  rain  lashed  him,  and 
the  hot  sun  scorched  him,  but  still  he  hung  there,  so 
high !  —  so  high !  Yet  I  waited,  for  the  strongest  rope 
will  break  in  time.  And  upon  a  moony  night,  he  fell, 
and  I  gathered  him  in  my  arms,  close  here  against  my 


How  Ivo's  Gallows  Ceased  to  Be     97 

heart,  and  buried  him  —  where  none  can  know  —  save 
God.  Many  others  have  I  buried  also,  for  the  strongest 
cords  must  break  in  time!  And  folk  do  say  the  devil 
bears  them  hence,  since  none  are  ever  found  —  but  I  know 
where  they  He  —  six  hundred  and  seventy  and  nine  —  I 
know  —  these  hands  have  buried  them  and  I  have  kept  a 
tallv.  Ah !  —  but  you,  gentle  youth,  what  would  ye 
here?" 

"  Burn  down  the  gallows,"  said  Beltane,  "  'tis  an  ac- 
cursed thing,  so  shall  it  shame  earth  and  heaven  no 
longer." 

"  How !  —  how !  "  cried  the  ancient  man,  letting  fall  his 
rusty  sword,  "  Destroy  Black  Ivo's  gibbet?  Dare  ye  — 
dare  ye  such  a  thing  indeed?  Are  there  men  with  souls 
unconquered  yet?  Methought  all  such  were  old,  or  dead, 
or  fled  away  —  dare  ye  this,  youth?  " 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Beltane.  "  Watch  now !  "  and  here- 
upon he,  together  with  the  others,  fell  to  hewing  down  the 
dry  brush  with  might  and  main,  and  piling  it  about  the 
gibbet's  massy  beams,  while  the  ancient  man,  perched  upon 
a  rock  hard  by,  watched  them  'neath  his  shaggy  brows 
and  laughed  soft  and  shrill. 

"  Aha !  "  he  cried,  "  the  fire  ye  kindle  here  shall  set  the 
Duchy  in  a  flame  mayhap,  to  burn  Black  Ivo  with  Gui  of 
Allerdale  and  Red  Pertolepe  —  mayhap !  For  them,  fire 
on  earth  and  flame  in  hell  —  aha !  To  burn  the  gibbet ! 
'tis  well  bethought:  so  shall  carrion  kite  and  jay  go  light- 
bellied  hereabouts,  mayhap,  oho !  *  Caw,'  they  shall  cry, 
*  Caw  —  give  us  to  eat  —  fair  white  flesh ! '  Yet  how 
may  they  eat  when  the  gallows  is  no  more?  " 

Thus  spake  he  with  shrill  laughter  while  Beltane 
laboured  until  the  sweat  ran  from  him,  while  Walkyn's 
great  axe  flashed  and  fell  near  by  and  steel  glittered  among 
the  underbrush  that  clothed  the  slopes  of  the  hill. 

Very  soon  they  had  stacked  great  piles  of  kindling  about 
the  gallows'  weather-beaten  timbers  —  twigs  below,  fag- 
gots above  —  cunningly  ordered  and  higher  than  Beltane's 
head.     Now  as  Beltane  leaned  upon  his  sword  to  wipe  the 


98 


Beltane  the  Smith 


sweat  from  his  eyes,  came  Roger  and  Walkyn  yet  panting 
from  their  labour. 

"  Master,"  said  Roger,  "  they  should  burn  well,  I  trow, 
and  yet  — " 

"  And  yet,"  quoth  Walkyn,  "  these  beams  be  thick :  me- 
thinks,  when  the  others  go,  one  man  should  stay  to  tend  the 
fires  until  the  flame  gets  fair  hold  — " 

"  And  that  man  I !  "  said  Roger. 

"  No,  no,"  frowned  Walkyn,  "  an  one  of  us  must  die,  it 
shall  be  me  — " 

But  now  came  the  ancient  man,  leaning  upon  his  ancient 
weapon. 

"  No,  children,"  said  he,  "  'tis  for  age  to  die  —  death 
is  sweet  to  the  old  and  weary:  so  will  I  tend  the  tire. 
Yet,  beseech  thee,  grant  me  this :  that  these  my  hands  shall 
fire  the  gallows  whereon  they  hanged  my  son,  long  ago: 
young  was  he,  and  tall  —  scarce  yet  a  man  —  they  hanged 
him  yonder,  so  high  —  so  high  —  so  far  beyond  my  care : 
and  the  carrion  birds  —  kites,  see  you,  and  crows  —  and 
the  wind  and  rain  and  dark  —  Ah,  God !  my  son !  I  am 
but  an  old  man  and  feeble,  yet,  beseech  thee,  let  this  be  the 
hand  to  fire  Black  Ivo's  gibbet !  " 

Then  Beltane  took  from  his  pouch  flint  and  steel  and 
tinder  and  gave  them  to  the  old  man's  trembling  fingers  as 
Giles  o'  the  Bow  came  running  with  the  stalwart  friar  be- 
hind him. 

So,  while  the  five  stood  hushed  and  wide  of  eye,  the  old 
man  knelt  before  them  in  his  rags  and  struck  flint  to  steel. 
Once  he  struck,  and  twice  —  and  behold  a  spark  that  leapt 
to  a  small  flame  that  died  to  a  glow ;  but  now,  flat  upon  his 
belly  lay  Giles  and,  pursing  his  lips,  puffed  and  blew  until 
the  glow  brightened,  spread,  and  burst  into  a  crackling 
flame  that  leapt  from  twig  to  twig.  And  when  the  fire 
waxed  hot.  Beltane  took  thence  a  glowing  brand,  and,  com- 
ing to  the  other  great  pile,  fired  it  therewith.  Up  rose  the 
flames  high  and  higher  until  they  began  to  lick,  pale- 
tongued,  about  the  gibbet's  two  great  supporting  timbers, 
and  ever  as  they  rose,  Walkyn  and' Roger,  Giles  and  the 


How  Ivo*s  Gallows  Ceased  to  Be     99 

friar,  laboured  amain,  stacking  logs  near  by  wherewith  to 
feed  the  fires. 

"  Enough,"  said  Beltane  at  last,  "  it  shall  suffice,  me- 
thinks." 

"Suffice?"  cried  the  old  man,  his  eyes  bright  in  the 
ruddy  glow,  "  aye,  it  shall  suffice,  sweet  boy.  See  —  see, 
the  timbers  catch  e'en  now.  Ha !  burn,  good  fire  —  eat, 
hungry  flame !  O,  happy  sight  —  would  my  dear  son  were 
here  —  they  hanged  his  fair  young  body,  but  his  soul  — 
Ha,  his  soul !  O  souls  of  hanged  men  —  O  spirits  of  the 
dead,  come  about  me,  ye  ghosts  of  murdered  youth,  come 
and  behold  the  gibbet  burn  whereon  ye  died.  What  —  are 
ye  there,  amid  the  smoke,  so  soon  ?  Come  then,  let  us  dance 
together  and  trip  it  lightly  to  and  fro  —  merrily,  merrily ! 
Hey  boy,  so  ho  then  —  so  ho,  and  away  we  go !  "  Here- 
upon, tossing  up  gaunt  arms,  the  old  man  fell  to  dancing 
and  capering  amid  the  sparks  and  rolling  smoke,  filling  the 
air  with  wild  talk  and  gabbling  high-pitched  laughter  that 
rose  above  the  roar  of  the  fires.  And  so  in  a  while  Beltane, 
sighing,  turned  and  led  the  way  down  the  hill  towards  the 
glooming  shadow  of  the  woods ;  but  ever  as  they  went  the 
flames  waxed  fiercer  behind  them  and  the  madman's  laugh- 
ter shrilled  upon  the  air. 

Swift-footed  they  plunged  into  the  underbrush  and  thus 
hidden  began  to  close  in  upon  Belsa^^e  town.  And  of  a  sud- 
den they  heard  a  cry,  and  thereafter  the  shattering  blare 
of  a  trumpet  upon  the  walls.  And  now  from  within  the 
waking  city  rose  a  confused  sound,  a  hum  that  grew 
louder  and  ever  more  loud,  pierced  by  shout  and  trumpet- 
blast  while  high  above  this  growing  clamour  the  tocsin 
pealed  alarm. 

Thus,  in  a  while  the  trembling  citizens  of  Belsaye,  start- 
ing from  their  slumber,  stared  in  pallid  amaze  beholding 
afar  a  great  and  fiery  gibbet  whose  flames,  leaping  heaven- 
ward, seemed  to  quench  the  moon. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOW  THEY  BRAKE  OPE  THE  DUNGEON  OF  BELSAYE 

Being  yet  in  the  shade  of  the  woods,  Beltane  paused, 
hearkening  to  the  distant  uproar  of  Belsaye  town  and 
watching  the  torches  that  hovered  upon  its  walls  and  the 
cressets  that  glowed  on  tower  and  bartizan. 

"  Messire  Beltane,"  quoth  the  friar,  setting  his  rumpled 
frock  in  order,  "  are  ye  minded  still  to  adventure  breaking 
ope  the  dungeon  of  Belsaye  ?  " 

"  Aye,  verily !  "  nodded  Beltane.  "  Know  you  the  city, 
good  friar.f'  " 

"  That  do  I,  my  brother :  every  lane  and  street,  every 
hole  and  corner  of  it  — 'twas  there  I  first  drew  breath.  A 
fair,  rich  city,  freed  by  charter  long  ago  —  but  now,  alas, 
its  freedom  snatched  away,  its  ancient  charter  gone,  it 
bleeds  'neath  a  pale-cheeked  tyrant's  sway  —  a  pallid  man 
who  laughs  soft-voiced  to  see  men  die,  and  smiles  upon  their 
anguish.  O  Belsaye,  grievous  are  thy  wrongs  since  Ivo 
came  five  years  agone  and  gave  thee  up  to  pillage  and  to 
ravishment.  O  hateful  day!  O  day  of  shame!  What 
sights  I  saw  —  what  sounds  I  heard  —  man-groans  and 
screams  of  women  to  rend  high  heaven  and  shake  the  throne 
of  God,  methinks.  I  see  —  I  hear  them  yet,  and  must  for- 
ever. Jesu,  pity  !  "  and  leaning  against  a  tree  near  by,  the 
stalwart  friar  shivered  violently  and  hid  his  eyes. 

"  Why,  good  brother  Martin,"  said  Beltane,  setting  an 
arm  about  him,  "  doth  memory  pain  thee  so,  indeed?  good 
Brother  Martin,  be  comforted  — " 

"  Nay,  nay  — 'tis  past,  but  —  O  my  son,  I  —  had  a  sis- 
ter !  "  said  the  good  friar,  and  groaned.  Yet  in  a  while  he 
raised  his  head  and  spake  again :  "  And  when  Duke  Ivo 
had  wrought  his  will  upon  the  city,  he  builded  the  great 
gibbet  yonder  and  hanged  it  full  with  men  cheek  by  jowl, 


The  Dungeon  of  Belsaye       loi 

and  left  Sir  Gui  the  cruel  with  ten  score  chosen  men  for  gar- 
rison. But  the  men  of  Belsaye  have  stubborn  memories ; 
Sir  Gui  and  his  butchers  slumber  in  a  false  security,  for 
stern  men  are  they  and  strong,  and  wait  but  God's  ap- 
pointed time.     Pray  God  that  time  be  soon !  " 

"  Amen !  "  said  Beltane.  Now,  even  as  he  spake  came 
the  sound  of  a  distant  tucket,  the  great  gates  of  Belsaye 
swung  wide,  and  forth  rode  a  company  of  men-at-arms, 
their  bascinets  agleam  'neath  the  moon. 

"  Now !  "  spake  the  friar,  "  and  you  are  for  Belsaye,  my 
brother,  follow  me ;  I  know  a  way  —  albeit  a  moist  way  and 
something  evil  —  but  an  you  will  follow, —  come !  " 

So  saying  Friar  ]\Iartin  set  off  among  the  trees,  and  Bel- 
tane, beckoning  to  the  others,  followed  close.  Fast  strode 
the  friar,  his  white  robe  fluttering  on  before,  through  moon- 
light and  shadow,  until  they  reached  a  brook  or  freshet  that 
ran  bubbling  betwixt  flowery  banks ;  beside  this  strode  the 
tall  friar,  following  its  winding  course,  until  before  them, 
amid  the  shadow  —  yet  darker  than  the  shadow  —  loomed 
high  an  embattled  flanking  tower  of  the  walls  of  Belsaye 
town;  but  ever  before  them  flitted  the  friar's  white  gown, 
on  and  on  until  the  freshet  became  a  slow-moving  river, 
barring  their  advance  —  a  broad  river  that  whispered 
among  the  reeds  on  the  one  side  and  lapped  against  rugged 
wall  on  the  other. 

Here  the  friar  stayed  to  glance  from  gloomy  wall  and 
turret  to  fast  waning  moon  on  their  left,  then,  girding  up 
his  gown,  he  stepped  down  into  the  reeds,  and  a  moment 
later  they  saw  him  —  to  their  amaze  —  fording  the  river 
that  flowed  scarce  knee  deep. 

So,  heedfully.  Beltane  followed,  and,  stepping  into  the 
water  found  his  feet  upon  a  narrow  causewaj'^  cunningly  de- 
vised. Thus,  slowly  and  carefully,  because  of  the  flowing 
of  the  water,  they  came  betimes  to  where  the  friar  waited 
in  the  shadow  of  the  massy  wall;  yet,  even  as  they  came 
near,  the  friar  waved  his  arm,  stooped  —  and  was  gone ; 
whereon  my  Beltane  stared  amazed  and  the  three  muttered 
uneasily  behind  him.     But,  coming  nearer,  Beltane  espied 


I02  Beltane  the  Smith 

above  the  hurrying  waters  the  curve  of  an  arch  or  tunnel, 
and  pointing  it  to  the  others,  took  a  great  breath  and, 
stooping  beneath  the  water,  stumbled  on  and  on  until  it 
shallowed,  and  he  was  free  to  breathe  again. 

On  he  went,  through  water  now  breast-high,  with  slimy 
walls  above  him  and  around,  seeing  naught  by  reason  of  the 
pitchy  blackness,  and  hearing  only  the  smothered  splash  of 
those  behind,  and  gasping  breaths  that  boomed  hollow  in 
the  dark.  Yet  presently  he  saw  a  gleam  before  him  that 
broadened  with  each  step,  and,  of  a  sudden,  was  out  be- 
neath the  sky  —  a  narrow  strip  wherein  stars  twinkled,  and 
so  beheld  again  friar  Martin's  white  frock  flitting  on,  ghost- 
like, before.  In  a  while  he  brought  them  to  a  slimy  stair, 
and  climbing  this,  with  ever  growing  caution,  they  found 
themselves  at  last  beneath  the  frowning  shadow  of  the 
citadel  within  the  walls  of  Belsaye  town.  Now,  looking 
north,  Beltane  beheld  afar  a  fiery  gallows  that  flamed  to 
heaven,  and  from  the  town  thitherward  came  a  confused 
hum  of  the  multitude  who  watched ;  but  hereabouts  the  town 
seemed  all  deserted. 

"  The  dungeons  lie  beneath  our  feet,"  whispered  Friar 
Martin.     "  Come !  " 

So,  keeping  ever  in  the  shadow  of  the  great  square  keep, 
they  went  on,  soft-treading  and  alert  of  eye  till,  being  come 
to  the  angle  of  the  wall,  the  friar  stayed  of  a  sudden  and 
raised  a  warning  hand.  Then  came  Beltane  with  Walkyn 
close  behind,  and  peering  over  the  friar's  broad  shoulders, 
they  beheld  a  sentinel  who  stood  with  his  back  to  them, 
leaning  on  his  spear,  to  watch  the  burning  gallows,  his 
chain-mail  agleam  and  his  head-piece  glittering  as  he 
stirred  lazily  in  time  to  the  merry  lilt  he  sang  softly. 

Then,  or  ever  Beltane  could  stay  him,  Walkyn  o'  the 
Dene  laid  by  his  axe,  and,  his  soaked  shoes  soundless  upon 
the  stones,  began  to  steal  upon  the  unconscious  singer,  who 
yet  lolled  upon  his  spear  some  thirty  paces  away.  With 
great  body  bowed  forward  and  hairy  fingers  crooked, 
AValkyn  stole  upon  him ;  six  paces  he  went,  ten  —  twenty 
—  twenty-five  —  the    soldier    ceased    his    humming,    stood 


The  Dungeon  of  Belsaye       103 

erect  and  turned  about;  and  Walkyn  leapt  —  bore  him 
backward  doA\Ti  into  the  shadow  —  a  shadow  wherein  their 
bodies  writhed  and  twisted  silently  awhile.  When  Walkyn 
rose  out  of  the  shadow  and  beckoned  them  on. 

So,  following  ever  the  friar's  lead,  they  came  to  a  nar- 
row doorwa}'-  that  gave  upon  a  small  guard-room  lighted  by 
a  smoking  torch  socketed  to  the  wall.  The  place  was 
empty,  save  for  a  medley  of  arms  stacked  in  corners,  where- 
fore, treading  cautiously,  the  friar  led  them  a-down  a 
narrow  passage  and  so  to  a  second  and  larger  chamber 
where  burned  a  fire  of  logs.  Upon  the  walls  hung  shining 
head-pieces;  cloaks  and  mantles  lay  where  they  had  been 
flung  on  bench  and  floor,  but  none  was  there  to  give  them 
let  or  hindrance.  Then  Friar  Martin  took  a  torch  that 
smoked  near  by,  and,  crossing  to  the  hearth,  reached  down 
a  massy  key  from  the  wall,  and  with  this  in  his  hand,  came 
to  a  door  half  hidden  in  a  corner,  beyond  which  were 
steps  that  wound  downwards  into  the  dark,  a  darkness 
close  and  dank,  and  heavy  with  corruption. 

But  on  went  the  friar  —  his  torch  lighting  the  way  — 
down  and  ever  down  until  they  trod  a  narrow  way  'twixt 
reeking  walls,  where  breathed  an  air  so  close  and  foul  the 
very  torch  languished.  At  length  the  friar  stopped  be- 
fore a  mighty  door,  thick-banded  with  iron  bars  and  with 
massy  bolts,  and  while  Beltane  held  the  torch,  he  fitted  key 
to  lock  and  thereafter  the  great  door  swung  on  screaming 
hinge  and  showed  a  dungeon  beyond  —  a  place  foul  and 
noisome,  where  divers  pale-faced  wretches  lay  or  crouched, 
blinking  in  the  torch's  glare. 

"  What  ?  "  cried  one,  coming  to  his  feet,  a  squat  broad- 
shouldered  man — "be  this  the  dawn  so  soon?  Well,  we 
be  ready,  better  to  hang  i'  the  clean  air  than  rot  in  a 
dungeon,  say  1.     So  we  be  ready,  eh,  my  brothers  ?  " 

But  now,  some  groaned  and  wept  and  others  laughed, 
while  yet  others  got  them  to  their  knees,  bowed  of  head 
and  silent.  Then  went  in  the  friar  to  them  and  laid  his 
hands  upon  the  squat  man's  shoulder  and  spake  him  gen- 

tiy. 


i04  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  And  is  it  Osric,"  said  he.  "  Day  is  not  yet,  my  son, 
nor  with  the  day  shalt  thou  die  nor  any  here,  an  ye  be 
silent  all  and  follow  where  we  lead,  soft-footed,  so  will  we 
bring  you  to  God's  good  world  again.  Rise,  then,  each 
one,  speak  nothing,  but  follow ! " 

So  then  did  these  men,  snatched  of  a  sudden  from  the 
horror  of  death  to  the  hope  of  new  life,  follow  on  stum- 
bling feet,  out  from  the  noisome  gloom  of  the  dungeon,  out 
from  the  clammy  air  breatliing  of  death,  up  the  narrow 
winding  stair ;  and  with  each  step  came  strength  and  man- 
hood. Thus  as  they  strode  forth  of  the  frowning  keep, 
€ach  man  bore  sword  or  gisarm.  So,  with  breath  in  check, 
but  hearts  high-beating,  they  came  one  and  all,  to  where 
the  slimy  stair  led  down  into  the  gloom.  Yet  here  Friar 
Martin  paused,  sighing,  to  look  behind,  whence  rose  the 
distant  hum  of  those  thronging  townsfolk  who  yet  crowded 
wall  and  street  and  market  square  to  watch  the  gallows 
burn. 

"  Now  sweet  Christ  shield  ye,  good  people  of  Belsaye ! " 
he  sighed. 

"What  mean  ye,  my  brother?  "  questioned  Beltane. 

"  Alas !  my  son,"  groaned  the  friar,  "  I  needs  must  think 
upon  the  coming  day  and  of  the  vengeance  of  Sir  Gui  for 
this  our  work !  " 

"His  vengeance,  friar?" 

"  There  will  be  torture  and  death  busy  hereabouts  to- 
morrow, my  son,  for,  the  prisoners  being  gone,  so  will  Sir 
Gui  vent  his  anger  on  the  townsfolk — 'tis  ever  his  cus- 
tom — " 

"  Ha !  "  quoth  my  Beltane,  knitting  his  brows,  "  I  had 
not  thought  on  this !  " —  and  with  the  word,  he  turned  him 
back,  drawing  on  his  hood  of  mail. 

"  Come,  lord,"  whispered  Black  Roger  in  his  ear,  "  let 
us  be  going  while  yet  we  ma3\" 

"  Aye,  come,  my  son,"  spake  the  friar,  low-voiced. 
"  Tarry  not,  Belsaye  is  in  the  hand  of  God !  Nay,  what 
would  3'ou  ?  " 

"  I   must  go  back,"   said  Beltane,  loosening  sword  in 


The  Dungeon  of  Belsaye       105 

scabbard,  "  for  needs  must  I  this  night  have  word  with 
Gui  of  Allerdale." 

"  Nay,"  whispered  the  friar,  with  pleading  hand  on  Bel- 
tane's arm,  "  'tis  thing  impossible  — " 

"  Yet  must  I  try,  good  brother — " 

"  Ah,  dear  my  son,  'twill  be  thy  death  — " 

"  Why  look  you,  gentle  friar,  I  am  in  Belsaye,  and  Bel- 
saye '  is  in  the  hand  of  God ! '  So  fear  not  for  me,  but 
go  you  all  and  wait  for  me  beyond  the  river.  And,  if  I 
come  not  within  the  hour,  then  press  on  with  speed  for 
Thrasfordham  within  Bourne,  and  say  to  Sir  Benedict 
that,  while  he  liveth  to  draw  sword,  so  is  there  hope  for 
Pentavalon.  But  now  —  quick  !  —  where  lodgeth  Sir 
Gui?" 

"  Within  the  keep  —  there  is  a  stair  doth  mount  within 
the  thickness  of  the  wall  —  nay,  I  will  be  thy  guide  if  go- 
indeed  thou  must  — " 

"  Not  so,  good  friar,  be  it  thy  duty  to  lead  these  pris- 
oners to  freedom  and  to  safety  within  Bourne." 

"  Then  will  I  come,"  whispered  Roger  hoarse  and  eager, 
as  the  friar  turned  slow-footed  to  follow  the  others  adown 
the  slippery  stair,  "  beseech  thee,  lord,  thy  man  am  I, 
twice  sworn  to  thee  till  death,  so  suffer  me  beside  thee." 

"  Nay,"  said  Beltane,  "  Pentavalon's  need  of  thee  is- 
greater  e'en  than  mine,  therefore  will  I  adventure  this  thing 
alone.  Go  you  with  the  friar,  my  Roger,  and  so  farewell 
to  each." 

"  God  keep  thee,  noble  son !  "  whispered  the  friar,  his 
hand  upraised  in  blessing:  but  Roger  stood,  chin  on  breast 
and  spake  no  word. 

Then  Beltane  turned  him  and  sped  away,  soft-treading 
in  the  shadow  of  the  great  keep. 

The  waning  moon  cast  shadows  black  and  long,  and  in 
these  shadows  Beltane  crept  and  so,  betimes,  came  within 
the  outer  guard-room  and  to  the  room  beyond;  and  here 
beheld  a  low-arched  doorway  whence  steps  led  upward, — 
a  narrow  stair,  gloomy  and  winding,  whose  velvet  black- 
ness was  stabbed  here  and  there  by  moonlight,  flooding 


io6  Beltane  the  Smith 

through  some  deep-set  arrow-slit.  Up  he  went,  and  up, 
pausing  once  with  breath  in  check,  fancying  he  heard  the 
stealthy  sound  of  one  who  climbed  behind  him  in  the  black 
void  below ;  thus  stayed  he  a  moment,  with  eyes  that  strove 
to  pierce  the  gloom,  and  with  naked  dagger  clenched  to 
smite,  yet  heard  nought,  save  the  faint  whisper  of  his  own 
mail,  and  the  soft  tap  of  his  long  scabbard  against  the 
wall;  wherefore  he  presently  sped  on  again,  climbing 
swiftly  up  the  narrow  stair.  Thus,  in  a  while,  he  beheld 
a  door  above:  a  small  door,  yet  stout  and  strong,  a  door 
that  stood  ajar,  whence  came  a  beam  of  yellow  light. 

So,  with  sure  and  steady  hand.  Beltane  set  wide  the  door, 
that  creaked  faintly  in  the  stillness,  and  beheld  a  small, 
square  chamber  where  was  a  narrow  window,  and,  in  this 
window,  a  mail-clad  man  lolled,  his  unhelmed  head  thrust 
far  without,  to  watch  the  glow  that  leapt  against  the 
northern  sky. 

Then  Beltane  sheathed  his  dagger  and,  in  three  long 
strides  was  close  behind,  and,  stooping  above  the  man, 
sought  and  found  his  hairy  throat,  and  swung  him,  mighty- 
armed,  that  his  head  struck  the  wall ;  then  Beltane,  sighing, 
laid  him  upon  the  floor  and  turned  toward  a  certain  arras- 
hung  arch :  but,  or  ever  his  hand  came  upon  this  curtain, 
from  beyond  a  voice  hailed  —  a  voice  soft  and  musical. 

"  Hugo  —  O  Hugo,  spawn  of  hell,  hither  to  me !  " 

Then  Beltane,  lifting  the  curtain,  opened  the  door  and, 
striding  into  the  chamber  beyond,  closed  and  barred  the 
door  behind  him,  and  so  stood,  tall  and  menacing,  looking 
on  one  who  sat  at  a  table  busied  with  pen  and  ink-horn.  A 
slender  man  this,  and  richly  habited:  a  sleepy-eyed  man, 
pale  of  cheek,  with  long,  down-curving  nose,  and  mouth 
thin-lipped  and  masterful,  who,  presently  lifting  his  head, 
stared  up  in  amaze,  sleepy-eyed  no  longer :  for  now,  behold- 
ing Beltane  the  mighty,  sheathed  in  mail  from  head  to  foot, 
the  pen  dropped  from  his  fingers  and  his  long  pale  hands 
slowly  clenched  themselves. 

So,  for  a  space,  they  fronted  each  other,  speaking  not, 
while  eye  met  eye  unswerving  —  the  menacing  blue  and  the 


The  Dungeon  of  Belsaye       107 

challenging  black,  and,  through  the  open  casement  near  by 
came  a  ruddy  glow  that  flickered  on  arras-hung  wall  and 
rugged  roof-beam.  Now  raising  his  hand.  Beltane  pointed 
toward  this  glowing  window. 

"  Sir  Gui,"  quoth  he,  "  Lord  Seneschal  of  Belsaye  town, 
thou  hast  good  eyes  —  look  now,  and  tell  me  what  ye  see." 

"  I  see,"  said  Sir  Gui,  stirring  not,  "  I  see  a  presum.ptu- 
ous  knave  —  a  dog  who  shall  be  flung  headlong  from  the 
turret.  Ha !  Hugo !  "  he  called,  his  black  eyes  yet  un- 
swerving, "  0  Hugo,  son  of  the  fiend,  hither  to  me !  " 

"  Trouble  not,  my  lord,"  quoth  Beltane  gently,  "  be- 
hold, the  door  is  barred :  moreover,  Hugo  lieth  without  — 
pray  God  I  have  not  killed  him.  But,  as  for  thee  —  look 
yonder,  use  thine  eyes  and  speak  me  what  thou  dost  see." 

But  Sir  Gui  sat  on,  his  thin  lips  upcurling  to  a  smile, 
his  black  eyes  unswerving:  wherefore  came  Beltane  and 
seized  him  in  fierce  hands  and  plucked  him  to  his  feet  and 
so  brought  him  to  the  window. 

"  Ha !  "  he  cried,  "  look  now  and  tell  me  what  ye  see. 
Speak !  speak  —  for,  God  help  me !  now  am  I  minded  to 
kill  thee  here  and  now,  unarmed  though  ye  be,  and  cast 
thy  carrion  to  the  dogs  —  speak !  " 

Now,  beholdmg  the  mail-clad  face  above  him,  the  blue 
eyes  aflame,  the  pale  lips  tight-drawn.  Sir  Gui,  Seneschal 
of  Belsaye,  spake  soft-voiced  on  this  wise : 

"  I  see  my  lord  Duke's  gallov/s  go  up  in  flame  —  where- 
fore men  shall  die !  " 

"  Aye,"  sighed  Beltane,  *'  said  I  not  thine  eyes  were 
good.  Lord  Seneschal?  Now,  use  thine  ears  —  hearken! 
'Twas  I  and  five  others,  men  from  beyond  the  marches, 
fired  this  night  Black  Ivo's  gibbet,  moreover,  to-night  also 
have  we  broke  the  dungeon  that  lieth  beneath  this  thy  keep, 
and  set  thy  prisoners  free  —  I  and  these  five,  all  men  from 
the  north,  mark  me  this  well !  This  have  we  done  for  a 
sign  and  portent  —  ha !  look !  "  and  Beltane  pointed  of  a 
sudden  to  where  the  great  gallows,  outlined  against  the 
night  in  seething  flame,  swayed  to  and  fro,  crumbled,  and 
crashed  to  earth  'mid  whirling  sparks  and  flame,  while,  from 


io8  Beltane  the  Smith 

the  town  below  rose  a  murmur  that  swelled  and  swelled  to 
a  shout,  and  so  was  gone. 

"  Behold,  lord  Seneschal,  Black  Ivo's  gallows  to-night 
hath  ceased  to  be:  here  is  a  sign,  let  those  heed  it  that 
will.  But  for  thee  —  this !  To-night  have  I  burned  this 
gallows,  to-night  have  I  freed  thy  prisoners.  Upon  me 
therefore,  and  only  me,  be  the  penalty ;  for  —  mark  me 
this,  Seneschal !  —  spill  but  one  drop  of  blood  of  these 
innocents  of  Belsaye,  and,  as  God  seeth  me,  so  will  I  hunt 
thee  down,  and  take  thee  and  tear  out  thine  eyes,  and  cut 
off  thine  hands,  and  drive  thee  forth  to  starve !  And  this 
do  I  swear  by  the  honour  of  my  father.  Beltane  the  Strong, 
Duke  of  Pentavalon !  " 

But  now,  even  as  Sir  Gui  shrank  back  before  the  death 
in  Beltane's  look,  amazed  beyond  all  thought  by  his  words, 
came  a  sudden  shout,  and  thereafter  a  clash  and  ring  of 
steel  upon  the  stair  without.  And  now,  above  the  sudden 
din,  hoarse  and  loud  a  battle-cry  arose,  at  the  sound  of 
which  Sir  Gui's  jaws  hung  agape,  and  he  stood  as  one  that 
doubts  his  ears;  for  'twas  a  cry  he  had  heard  aforetime, 
long  ago. 

"  Arise !     Arise !     I  will  arise !  " 

Then  Beltane  cast  up  the  bar,  and,  plucking  wide  the 
<ioor,  beheld  the  broad,  mail-clad  back  of  one  who  held  the 
narrow  stair  where  flashed  pike  and  gisarm. 

"  Roger !  "  he  called,  "  Black  Roger !  " 

*'  Aye,  lord,  'tis  I,"  cried  Roger,  parrying  a  pike-thrust, 
^*  make  sure  of  thy  work,  master,  I  can  hold  these  in  check 
jet  a  while." 

"  My  work  is  done,  Roger.     To  me  —  to  me,  I  say !  " 

So  Roger,  leaping  back  from  the  stair-head,  turned 
about  and  ran  to  Beltane,  stumbling  and  spattering  blood 
as  he  came,  whereupon  Beltane  clapped-to  the  door  and 
barred  it  in  the  face  of  the  pursuit.  A  while  leaned  Roger, 
panting,  against  the  wall,  then,  beholding  Sir  Gui: 

*'  How !  "  he  cried,  "  lives  the  pale  fox  yet?  Methought 
thy  work  was  done,  master !  "  So  saying,  he  swung  aloft 
his  bloody  sword,  but,  even  as  the  Seneschal  waited  the 


The  Dungeon  of  Belsaye      109 

blow,  smiling  of  lip,  Beltane  caught  Black  Roger's  wrist. 

"  Stay  !  "  cried  he,  above  the  thunder  of  blows  that  shook 
the  door,  "  would'st  slay  a  man  unarmed  ?  " 

"  Aye,  master,  as  he  hath  slain  many  a  man  ere  now ! " 
quoth  Roger,  striving  to  free  his  arm.  "  The  door  is  giv- 
ing, and  there  be  many  without:  and,  since  to-night  we 
must  die,  so  let  us  slay  the  white  fox  first." 

"  Not  so,"  said  Beltane,  "  get  you  through  the  win- 
dow —  the  river  runs  below :  through  the  window  —  out, 
I  say !  "  and,  with  the  word,  he  stooped  and  bore  Black 
Roger  to  the  window. 

"  But,  lord  — " 

"  Jump !  "  cried  Beltane,  "  jump,  ere  the  door  fall." 

"  But  you,  master  — " 

"  Jump,  I  say :  I  will  follow  thee."  So,  groaning, 
Black  Roger  hurled  his  sword  far  out  from  the  window, 
and  leaping  from  the  sill,  was  gone. 

Then  Beltane  turned  and  looked  upon  Gui  of  Allerdale. 
**  Seneschal,"  said  he,  "  I  who  speak  am  he,  who,  an  God 
so  wills,  shall  be  Duke  of  Pentavalon  ere  long:  howbeit,  I 
will  keep  my  promise  to  thee,  so  aid  me  God !  " 

Thus  saying,  he  mounted  the  window  in  his  turn,  and, 
even  as  the  door  splintered  behind  him,  forced  himself 
through,  and,  leaping  wide,  whirled  over  and  over,  down 
and  down,  and  the  sluggish  river  closed  over  him  with  a 
mighty  splash;  thereafter  the  placid  waters  went  upon 
their  way,  bubbling  here  and  there,  and  dimpling  'neath 
the  waning  moon. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HOW  BELTANE  CAME  NIGH  TO  DEATH 

Down  went  my  Beltane,  weighted  in  his  heavy  mail  —  down 
and  ever  down  through  a  world  of  green  that  grew  dark 
and  ever  more  dark,  until,  within  the  pitchy  gloom  beneath 
him  was  a  quaking  slime  that  sucked  viciously  at  foot  and 
ankle.  Desperately  he  fought  and  strove  to  rise,  but  ever 
the  mud  clung,  and,  lusty  swimmer  though  he  was,  his 
triple  mail  bore  him  down. 

And  now  his  mighty  muscles  failed,  lights  flamed  before 
his  eyes,  in  his  ears  was  a  drone  that  grew  to  a  rushing 
roar,  his  lungs  seemed  bursting,  and  the  quaking  ooze 
yearning  to  engulf  him.  Then  my  Beltane  knew  the  bitter 
agony  of  coming  death,  and  strove  no  more;  but  in  that 
place  of  darkness  and  horror,  a  clammy  something  crawled 
upon  his  face,  slipped  down  upon  his  helpless  body,  seized 
hold  upon  his  belt  and  dragged  at  him  fierce  and  strong; 
slowly,  slowly  the  darkness  thinned,  grew  lighter,  and 
then  —  Ah,  kind  mercy  of  God !  his  staring  eyes  beheld  the 
orbed  moon,  his  famished  lungs  drank  deep  the  sweet,  cool 
air  of  night.  And  so  he  gasped,  and  gasping,  strove  feebly 
with  arm  and  leg  while  ever  the  strong  hand  grasped  at  his 
girdle.  And  now  he  heard,  faint  and  afar,  a  sound  of 
voices,  hands  reached  down  and  drew  him  up  —  up  to  good, 
firm  earth,  and  there,  face  down  among  the  grass,  he  lay 
awhile,  content  only  to  live  and  breathe.  Gradually  he 
becam.e  aware  of  another  sound  hard  by,  a  sharp  sound 
yet  musical,  and  in  a  little,  knew  it  for  the  "  twang  "  of  a 
swift-drawn  bow-string.  Now,  glancing  up.  Beltane  be- 
held an  ancient  tree  near  by,  a  tree  warped  and  stunted 
wherein  divers  arrows  stood,  and  behind  the  tree,  Giles  o' 
the  Bow,  who,  as  he  watched,  drew  and  loosed  a  shaft. 


How  Beltane  Came  Nigh  to  Death    1 1 1 

which,  flashing  upward,  was  answered  by  a  cry ;  whereon 
Giles  laughed  aloud. 

*'  Six !  "  he  cried,  "  six  in  seven  shots :  'tis  sweet  archery 
methinks,  and  quicker  than  a  noose,  my  Rogerkin,  and 
more  deadly  than  thy  axe,  my  surly  Walkyn.  Let  the 
rogues  yonder  but  show  themselves,  and  give  me  arrows 
enow,  so  will  I  slay  all  Gui's  garrison  ere  the  moon  fail  me 
quite." 

But  hereupon  Beltane  got  him  to  his  knees  and  made 
shift  to  stand,  and,  coming  to  the  tree,  leaned  there,  being 
faint  and  much  spent. 

'*  Aha,  sweet  lord,"  cried  the  archer,  "  a  man  after  my 
very  heart  art  thou.  What  wonders  have  we  achieved 
this  night  —  paladins  in  sooth  we  be,  all  four !  By  the 
blessed  bones  of  St.  Giles,  all  Pentavalon  shall  ring  with 
our  doings  anon." 

Said  Beltane,  faintly: 

"  Where  is  my  good  Roger.''  " 

"  Here,  lord,"  a  voice  answered  from  the  shade  of  a 
bush  hard  by :  "  'twas  my  comrade  Walkyn  dragged  me 
up  from  death  —  even  as  he  did  thee." 

"  We  thought  you  gone  for  good,  master." 

"  Aye !  "  cried  the  archer,  "  so  would  ye  all  be  dead,  me- 
thinks, but  for  me  and  this  my  bow." 

"  Friends,"  said  Beltane,  "  'tis  by  doings  such  as  this 
that  men  do  learn  each  other's  worth:  so  shall  the  bonds 
betwixt  us  strengthen  day  by  day,  and  join  us  in  accord 
and  brotherhood  that  shall  outlast  this  puny  life.  So  now 
let  us  begone  and  join  the  others." 

So  they  turned  their  backs  upon  Belsaye  town,  and 
keeping  to  the  brush,  came  at  length  to  where  upon  the 
borders  of  the  forest  the  white  friar  waited  them,  with  the 
nine  who  yet  remained  of  the  prisoners ;  these,  beholding 
Beltane,  came  hurrying  to  meet  him,  and  falling  upon  their 
knees  about  him,  strove  with  each  other  to  kiss  his  hands 
and  feet. 

"  Good  fellows,"  said  Beltane,  "  God  hath  this  night 
brought  ye  out  of  death  into  life  —  how  will  ye  use  your 


112  Beltane  the  Smith 

lives  hereafter?  List  now:  —  even  as  ye  have  suffered, 
others  are  suffering:  as  ye  have  endured  the  gloom  of  dun- 
geon and  fear  of  death,  so,  at  this  hour,  others  do  the 
like  by  reason  of  misrule  and  tyranny.  Now  here  stand  I, 
together  with  Sir  Benedict  of  Bourne  who  holdeth  Thras- 
fordham  Keep,  pledged  to  live  henceforth,  sword  in  hand, 
until  these  evils  are  no  more  —  since  'tis  only  by  bitter 
strife  and  conflict  that  evil  may  be  driven  from  our  bor- 
ders. Thus,  Pentavalon  needeth  men,  strong-armed  and 
resolute:  if  such  ye  be,  march  ye  this  hour  to  Thrasford- 
ham  within  Bourne,  and  say  to  Sir  Benedict  that  God 
having  given  you  new  life,  so  now  will  ye  give  your  lives 
to  Pentavalon,  that  tyranny  may  cease  and  the  Duchy  be 
cleansed  of  evil.  Who  now  among  ye  will  draw  sword  for 
freedom  and  Pentavalon?  " 

Then  sprang  the  squat  man  Osric  to  his  feet,  with 
clenched  fist  upraised  and  eyes  ablaze  'neath  his  matted 
hair. 

"  That  will  I !"  he  cried.  "And  I!  And  I!  And  I!" 
cried  the  rest,  grim-faced  and  eager.  "  Aye  —  give  us  but 
swords,  and  one  to  lead,  and  we  will  follow !  " 

Quoth  Beltane : 

"  Go  you  then  to  Sir  Benedict  within  Bourne  and  say 
to  all  men  that  Beltane  the  Duke  hath  this  night  burned 
down  Black  Ivo's  shameful  gibbet,  for  a  sign  that  he  is 
come  at  last  and  is  at  work,  nor  will  he  stay  until  he  die, 
or  Pentavalon  be  free !  " 


CHAPTER  XV 

HOW  BELTANE  HAD  WORD  WITH  PERTOLEPE  THE  RED,  AND 
HOW  THEY  LEFT  HIM  IN  THE  FOREST 

"  Since  all  men   breathing  'neath  the  sky 

Good  or  evil,  soon  must  die. 

Ho !  bring  me  wine,  and  what  care  I 

For  dying !  " 

It  was  Giles  Brabblecombe  singing  to  himself  as  he  knelt 
beside  a  fire  of  twigs,  and  Beltane,  opening  sleepy  eyes, 
looked  round  upon  a  world  all  green  and  gold  and  dew- 
bespangled;  a  fair  world  and  fragrant,  whose  balmy  air 
breathed  of  hidden  flowers  and  blooming  thickets,  whence 
came  the  joyous  carolling  of  new-waked  birds;  and  behold- 
ing all  this  and  the  glory  of  it,  my  Beltane  must  needs 
praise  God  he  was  alive. 

"  Hail  and  good  morrow  to  thee,  brother !  "  cried  the 
bowman,  seeing  him  astir.  "  The  sun  shineth,  look  you,  I 
sit  upon  my  hams  and  sing  for  that  this  roasting  venison 
smelleth  sweet,  while  yonder  i'  the  leaves  be  a  mavis  and  a 
merle  a-mocking  of  me,  pretty  rogues:  for  each  and  ever 
of  which,  Laus  Deo,  Amen!  " 

"  Why  truly,  God  hath  made  a  fair  world,  Giles,  a  good 
world  to  live  in,  and  to  live  is  to  act  —  yet  here  have  I 
lain  most  basely  sleeping — " 

"  Like  any  paunched  friar,  brother.  But  a  few  days 
since,  I  met  thee  in  the  green,  a  very  gentle,  dove-like 
youth  that  yet  became  a  very  lion  of  fight  and  demi-god  of 
battle!  Heroes  were  we  all,  last  night  —  nay,  very 
Titans  —  four  'gainst  an  army !  —  whiles  now,  within  this 
balmy-breathing  morn  you  shall  see  Walkyn  o*  the  Bloody 
Axe  with  grim  Black  Rogerkin,  down  at  the  brook  yonder, 


114  Beltane  the  Smith 

a-sprawl  upon  their  bellies  busily  a-tickling  trout  for 
breakfast,  while  I,  whose  good  jew  bow  carrieth  death  in 
every  twang,  toasting  deer-flesh  on  a  twig,  am  mocked  of 
wanton  warblers  i'  the  green :  and  thou,  who  art  an  Achilles, 
a  Hector,  an  Ajax — a  very  Mars  —  do  sleep  and  slum- 
ber, soft  and  sweet  as  full-fed  friar  —  Heigho  !  Yet  even 
a  derai-god  must  nod  betimes,  and  Titans  eat,  look  ye." 

Now  looking  from  sun  to  earth  and  beholding  the 
shortening  of  the  shadows.  Beltane  leapt  up.     Quoth  he : 

"  Sluggard  that  I  am,  'tis  late !  And  Roger  was 
wounded  last  night,  I  mind  — " 

"  Content  you,  brother,  'twas  nought,"  said  Giles  bend- 
ing above  his  cooking,  "  the  kiss  of  a  pike-head  i'  the  thick 
o'  the  arm  —  no  more." 

"  Yet  it  must  be  looked  to  — " 

*'  I  did  it,  brother,  as  I  shoot  —  that  is  to  say  I  did  it 
most  excellent  well:  'twill  be  healed  within  the  week." 

"  How  then  —  art  leech  as  well  as  bowman.''  " 

"  Quite  as  well,  brother.  When  I  was  a  monk  I  learned 
two  good  things,  videlicet:  never  to  argue  with  those  in 
authority  over  me,  and  to  heal  the  hurts  of  those  that  did. 
So,  by  my  skill  in  herbs  and  leechcraft,  Roger,  having  a 
hole  in  his  arm,  recks  not  of  it  —  behold  here  he  cometh, 
and  Walkyn  too,  and  LaUrS  Deo!  with  a  trout!  Now  shall 
we  feast  like  any  pampered  prelate." 

So  when  Beltane  had  stripped  and  bathed  him  In  the 
brook,  they  presently  sat  down,  all  four  together,  and  ate 
and  talked  and  laughed  right  merrily,  the  while  lark  and 
thrush  and  blackbird  carolled  lustily  far  and  near. 

"  Now  eat,  brothers,"  cried  the  bowman,  full-mouthed, 
"  eat  and  spare  not,  as  I  do,  for  to-day  I  smell  the  battle 
from  afar :  Ho !  Ho !  the  noise  of  captains  and  the  shout- 
ing !  Yesterday  were  we  heroes,  to-day  must  we  be  gods  — 
yet  cautious  gods,  for,  mark  me,  I  have  but  twelve  shafts 
remaining,  and  with  twelve  shafts  can  but  promise  ye  a 
poor  twelve  lives." 

But  now  came  Roger  wistful-eyed,  and  with  belt  a-swing 
in  his  hand. 


How  He  Had  Word  with  Pertolepe    115 

"  Master,"  quoth  he,  "  last  night  did  we  four  rescue 
twelve.  Now  I'm  fain  to  know  if  for  these  twelve  I  may 
cut  twelve  notches  from  ray  belt,  or  must  we  share  their 
lives  betwixt  us  and  I  count  but  three?  " 

"Three?"  laughed  Giles,  "  Oho  —  out  upon  thee, 
Rogerkin !  Our  lord  here  claimeth  six,  since  he  the  rescue 
planned,  next,  I  claim  three,  since  but  for  my  goodly  shoot- 
ing ye  all  had  died,  then  hath  Walkyn  two,  since  he  saved 
thee  from  the  fishes,  which  leaveth  thee  —  one.  Quod  erat 
demonstrandum!  " 

But  now,  seeing  Roger's  downcast  look,  Giles  snatched 
the  belt  and  gave  it  unto  Beltane,  who  forthwith  cut  there- 
from twelve  notches.  And,  in  a  while,  having  made  an  end 
of  eating,  Beltane  rose  and  looked  round  upon  the  three. 

"  Good  comrades  all,"  quoth  he,  "  well  do  I  know  ye  to 
be  staunch  and  trusty;  yet  to-day  am  I  minded  to  speak 
with  him  men  call  Pertolepe  the  Red,  lest  he  shed  innocent 
blood  for  that  we  slew  his  foresters  — " 

"  Twenty  lusty  fellows !  "  nodded  Giles,  with  a  morsel 
of  venison  on  his  dagger  point. 

"  Nay,  there  one  escaped !  "  quoth  Roger. 

"  Yet  he  sore  wounded !  "  said  Walkyn. 

"  Ha !  Sir  Pertolepe  is  a  terrible  lord !  "  quoth  Giles, 
eyeing  the  morsel  of  venison  somewhat  askance.  "  'Twill 
be  a  desperate  adventure,  methinks  —  and  we  but  four." 

"  Yet  each  and  all  —  gods  !  "  quoth  Walkyn,  reaching 
for  his  axe. 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Giles,  frowning  at  the  piece  of  venison, 
"  yet  are  we  but  four  gods." 

"  Not  so,"  answered  Beltane,  "  for  in  this  thing  shall 
we  be  but  one.  Go  you  three  to  Bourne,  for  I  am  minded 
to  try  this  adventure  alone." 

"  Alone,  master !  "  cried  Black  Roger,  starting  to  his 
feet. 

"  Alone !  "  growled  Walkyn,  clutching  his  axe. 

"  An  death  must  come,  better  one  should  die  than  four," 
said  Beltane,  "  howbeit  I  am  minded  to  seek  out  Pertolepe 
this  day." 


1 1 6  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Then  do  I  come  also,  master,  since  thy  man  am  I." 

"  I,  too,"  nodded  Walkyn,  "  come  death  and  welcome,  so 
I  but  stand  face  to  face  with  Pertolepe." 

"  Alack !  "  sighed  Giles,  "  so  needs  must  I  come  also, 
since  I  have  twelve  shafts  yet  unsped,"  and  he  swallowed 
the  morsel  of  venison  with  mighty  relish  and  gusto. 

Then  laughed  Beltane  for  very  gladness,  and  he  looked 
on  each  with  kindling  eye. 

"  Good  friends,"  quoth  he,  "  as  ye  say,  so  let  it  be,  and 
may  God's  hand  be  over  us  this  day." 

Now,  as  he  spake  with  eyes  uplift  to  heaven,  he  espied 
a  faint,  blue  mist  far  away  above  the  soft-stirring  tree 
tops  —  a  distant  haze,  that  rose  lazily  into  the  balmy  air, 
thickening  ever  as  he  watched. 

"  Ah !  "  he  exclaimed,  fierce-eyed  of  a  sudden  and  point- 
ing with  rigid  finger,  "  whence  cometh  that  smoke,  think 
ye?" 

"  Why,"  quoth  Roger,  frowning,  "  Wendonmere  village 
lieth  yonder !  " 

"  Nay,  'tis  nearer  than  Wendonmere,"  said  Walkyn, 
shouldering  his  axe. 

"  See,  the  smoke  thickens !  "  cried  Beltane.  "  Now,  God 
forgive  me!  the  while  I  tarry  here  Red  Pertolepe  is  busy, 
meseemeth !  "  So  saying,  he  caught  up  his  sword,  and  in- 
continent set  off  at  speed  toward  where  the  soft  blue  haze 
stole  upon  the  air  of  morning,  growing  denser  and  ever 
denser. 

Fast  and  furious  Beltane  sped  on,  crashing  through  un- 
derbrush and  crackling  thicket,  o'erleaping  bush  and  brook 
and  fallen  tree,  heedful  of  eye,  and  choosing  his  course  with 
a  forester's  unerring  instinct,  praying  fiercely  beneath  his 
breath,  and  with  the  three  ever  close  behind. 

"  Would  I  had  eaten  less !  "  panted  Giles. 

"  Would  our  legs  were  longer !  "  growled  Walkyn. 

*'  Would  my  belt  bore  fewer  notches  !  "  quoth  Roger. 

And  so  they  ran  together,  sure-footed  and  swift,  and 
ever  as  they  ran  the  smoke  grew  denser,  and  ever  Beltane's 
prayers  more  fervent.     Now  in  a  while  they  heard  a  sound, 


How  He  Had  Word  with  Per tolepe    117 

faint  and  confused :  a  hum,  that  presently  grew  to  a  mur- 
mur —  to  a  drone  —  to  a  low  wailing  of  voices,  pierced 
of  a  sudden  by  a  shrill  cry  no  man's  lips  could  utter,  that 
swelled  high  upon  the  air  and  died,  lost  amid  the  growing 
clamour. 

"  They've  fired  the  ricks  first !  "  panted  Roger ;  "  'tis 
ever  Pertolepe's  way !  " 

"  They  be  torturing  the  women !  "  hissed  Walkyn ;  "  'tis 
ever  so  Red  Pertolepe's  pleasure !  " 

"  And  I  have  but  twelve  arrows  left  me !  "  groaned  Giles. 

But  Beltane  ran  in  silence,  looking  neither  right  nor  left, 
until,  above  the  hum  of  voices  he  heard  one  upraised  in 
passionate  supplication,  followed  by  another  —  a  loud 
voice  and  jovial  —  and  thereafter,  a  burst  of  roaring 
laughter. 

Soon  Beltane  beheld  a  stream  that  flowed  athwart  their 
way  and,  beyond  the  stream,  a  line  of  willows  thick  growing 
upon  the  marge;  and  again,  beyond  these  clustering  wil- 
lows the  straggling  village  lay.  Then  Beltane,  motioning 
the  others  to  caution,  forded  the  stream  and  coming  in  the 
shade  of  the  osiers,  drew  on  his  hood  of  mail,  and  so,  un- 
sheathing his  long  sword,  peered  through  the  leaves.  And 
this  is  what  he  saw: 

A  wide  road  flanked  by  rows  of  scattered  cottages,  rude 
of  wall  and  thatch;  a  dusty  road,  that  led  away  east 
and  west  into  the  cool  depths  of  the  forest,  and  a  cringing 
huddle  of  wretched  village  folk  whose  pallid  faces  were  all 
set  one  way,  where  some  score  of  men-at-arms  lolled  in 
their  saddles  watching  a  tall  young  maid  who  struggled 
fiercely  in  the  grasp  of  two  lusty  fellows,  her  garments 
rent,  her  white  flesh  agleam  in  the  sunlight.  A  comely 
maid,  supple  and  strong,  who  ever  as  she  strove  'gainst  the 
clutching  hands  that  held  her,  kept  her  blazing  eyes  turned 
upon  one  in  knightly  mail  who  sat  upon  a  great  war-horse 
hard  by,  watching  her,  big  chin  in  big  mailed  fist,  and  with 
wide  hps  up-curling  in  a  smile :  a  strong  man  this,  heavy 
and  broad  of  chest ;  his  casque  hung  at  his  saddle-bow,  and 
his  mail-coif,  thrown  back  upon  his  wide  shoulders,  showed 


1 1 8  Beltane  the  Smith 

his  thick,  red  hair  that  fell  a-down,  framing  his  square-set, 
rugged  face. 

"  Ha,  Cuthbert,"  quoth  he,  turning  to  one  who  rode  at 
his  elbow  —  a  slender  youth  who  stared  with  evil  eyes  and 
sucked  upon  his  finger,  "  Aha,  by  the  fiend,  'tis  a  sweet 
armful.  Sir  Squire?  " 

"  Aye,  my  lord  Pertolepe,  'tis  rarely  shaped  and  deli- 
cately fleshed !  "  answered  the  esquire,  and  so  fell  to  suck- 
ing his  finger  again. 

"What,  silly  wench,  will  ye  defy  me  still?"  cried  Sir 
Pertolepe,  jovial  of  voice,  "  must  ye  to  the  whip  in  sooth? 
Ho,  Ralph  —  Otho,  strip  me  this  stubborn  jade  —  so!  — 
Ha !  verily  Cuthbert,  hast  shrewd  eyes,  'tis  a  dainty  rogue. 
Come,"  said  he  smiling  down  into  the  girl's  wide,  fierce 
eyes,  "  save  that  fair  body  o'  thine  from  the  lash,  now,  and 
speak  me  where  is  thy  father  and  brother  that  I  may  do 
justice  on  them,  along  with  these  other  dogs,  for  the  foul 
murder  of  my  foresters  yest're'en ;  their  end  shall  be 
swift,  look  ye,  and  as  for  thyself  —  shalt  find  those  to 
comfort  thee  anon  —  speak,  wench !  " 

But  now  came  a  woman  pale  and  worn,  who  threw  her- 
self on  trembling  knees  at  Sir  Pertolepe's  stirrup,  and, 
bowed  thus  before  him  in  the  dust,  raised  a  passionate 
outcry,  supplicating  his  mercy  with  bitter  tears  and  clasped 
hands  lifted  heavenwards. 

"  O  good  my  lord  Pertolepe,"  she  wailed,  "  'twas  not  my 
husband,  nor  son,  nor  any  man  of  our  village  wrought  this 
thing ;  innocent  are  we,  my  lord  — " 

"O  witch!"  quoth  he,  "who  bade  thee  speak?"  So 
saying  he  drew  mail-clad  foot  from  stirrup  and  kicked 
her  back  into  the  dust.  "  Ho,  whips !  "  he  called,  "  lay 
on,  and  thereafter  will  we  hang  these  vermin  to  their  own 
roof-trees  and  fire  their  hovels  for  a  warning." 

But  now,  even  as  the  struggling  maid  was  dragged  for- 
ward —  even  as  Pertolepe,  smiling,  settled  chin  on  fist  to 
watch  the  lithe  play  of  her  writhing  limbs,  the  willows 
behind  him  swayed  and  parted  to  a  sudden  panther-like 
leap,  and  a  mail-clad  arm  was  about  Sir  Pertolepe  —  a 


How  He  Had  Word  with  Pertolepe    119 

mighty  arm  that  bore  him  from  the  saddle  and  hurled  him 
headlong;  and  thereafter  Sir  Pertolepe,  half  stunned  and 
staring  up  from  the  dust,  beheld  a  great  blade  whose  point 
pricked  his  naked  throat,  and,  beyond  this  blade,  a  mail- 
clad  face,  pallid,  fierce,  grim-lipped,  from  whose  blazing 
eyes  death  glared  down  at  him. 

"  Dog !  "  panted  Beltane. 

*'  Ha !  Cuthbert !  "  roared  Red  Pertolepe,  writhing 
'neath  Beltane's  grinding  heel,  "  to  me,  Cuthbert  —  to 
me!" 

But,  as  the  esquire  wheeled  upon  Beltane  with  sword  up- 
lifted, out  from  the  green  an  arrow  whistled,  and  Cuthbert, 
shrill-screaming,  swayed  in  his  saddle  and  thudded  to  earth, 
while  his  great  war-horse,  rearing  affrighted,  plunged 
among  the  men-at-arms,  and  all  was  shouting  and  con- 
fusion ;  while  from  amid  the  willows  arrows  whizzed  and 
flew,  'neath  whose  cruel  barbs  horses  snorted,  stumbling 
and  kicking,  or  crashed  into  the  dust;  and  ever  the  con- 
fusion grew. 

But  now  Sir  Pertolepe,  wriggling  beneath  Beltane's  iron 
foot  had  unsheathed  his  dagger,  yet,  ere  he  could  stab, 
down  upon  his  red  pate  crashed  the  heavy  pommel  of  Bel- 
tane's sword  and  Sir  Pertolepe,  sinking  backward,  lay  out- 
stretched in  the  dust  very  silent  and  very  still.  Then 
Beltane  sheathed  his  sword  and,  stooping,  caught  Sir  Per- 
tolepe by  the  belt  and  dragged  him  into  the  shade  of  the 
willows,  and  being  come  to  the  stream,  threw  his  captive 
down  thereby  and  fell  to  splashing  his  bruised  face  with 
the  cool  water.  And  now,  above  the  shouts  and  the  tram- 
pling of  hoofs  upon  the  road,  came  the  clash  of  steel  on 
steel  and  the  harsh  roar  of  Walkyn  and  Black  Roger  as 
they  plied  axe  and  sword  — "  Arise !  Pla,  arise !  "  Then, 
as  Beltane  glanced  up,  the  leaves  near  bj'^were  dashed  aside 
and  Giles  came  bounding  through,  his  gay  feather  shorn 
away,  his  escalloped  cape  wrenched  and  torn,  his  broad- 
sword a-swing  in  his  hand. 

"  Ho,  tall  brother  —  a  sweet  affray !  "  he  panted,  "  the 
fools  give  back  already :  they  cry  that  Pertolepe  is  slain 


I20  Beltane  the  Smith 

and  the  woods  full  of  outlaws ;  they  be  falling  back  from 
the  village  —  had  I  but  a  few  shafts  in  my  quiver,  now  — '* 
but  here,  beholding  the  face  of  Beltane's  captive,  Giles  let 
fall  his  sword,  staring  round-eyed. 

"  Holy  St.  Giles  !  "  he  gasped,  "  'tis  the  Red  Pertolepe !  " 
and  so  stood  agape,  what  time  a  trumpet  brayed  a  fitful 
blast  from  the  road  and  was  answered  afar.  Thereafter 
came  Roger,  stooping  as  he  ran,  and  shouting: 

"  Archers  !     Archers !  —  run,  lord !  " 

But  Beltane  stirred  not,  only  he  dashed  the  water  in  Sir 
Pertolepe's  twitching  face,  wherefore  came  Roger  and 
caught  him  b3'^  the  arm,  pleading: 

"  Master,  O  master !  "  he  panted,  "  the  forest  is  a-throng 
with  lances,  and  there  be  archers  also  —  let  us  make  the 
woods  ere  we  are  beset !  " 

But  Beltane,  seeing  the  captive  stir,  shook  off  Black 
Roger's  grasp ;  but  now,  one  laughed,  and  Walkyn  towered 
above  him,  white  teeth  agleam,  who,  staring  down  at  Sir 
Pertolepe,  whirled  up  his  bloody  axe  to  smite. 

"  Fool !  "  cried  Beltane,  and  threw  up  his  hand  to  stay 
the  blow,  and  in  that  moment  Sir  Pertolepe  oped  his  ej^es. 

"  'Tis  Pertolepe !  "  panted  Walkyn,  "  'tis  he  that  slew 
wife  and  child:  so  now  will  I  slay  him,  since  we,  in  this 
hour,  must  die !  " 

"  Not  so,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  stand  back  —  obey  me  — 
back,  I  say !  "  So,  muttering,  Walkyn  lowered  his  axe, 
while  Beltane,  drawing  his  dagger,  stooped  above  Sir  Per- 
tolepe and  spake,  swift  and  low  in  his  ear,  and  with  dagger 
at  his  throat.  And,  in  a  while.  Beltane  rose  and  Sir 
Pertolepe  also,  and  side  by  side  they  stepped  forth  of  the 
leaves  out  into  the  road,  where,  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
village,  pikemen  and  men-at-arms,  archer  and  knight,  were 
halted  in  a  surging  throng,  while  above  the  jostling  con- 
fusion rose  the  hoarse  babel  of  their  voices.  But  of  a 
sudden  the  clamour  died  to  silence,  and  thereafter  from  a 
hundred  throats  a  shout  went  up: 

"  A  Pertolepe !     'Tis  Sir  Pertolepe !  " 

Now  in  this  moment  Beltane  laid  his  dagger-hand  about 


How  He  Had  Word  with  Pertolepe    121 

Sir  Pertolepe's  broad  shoulders,  and  set  the  point  of  his 
dagger  'neath  Sir  Pertolepe's  right  ear. 

"  Speak !  "  quoth  Beltane  softly,  and  his  dagger-point 
bit  deeper,  "  speak  now  as  I  commanded  thee !  " 

A  while  Sir  Pertolepe  bit  savagely  at  his  knuckle-bones, 
then,  lifting  his  head,  spake  that  all  might  hear : 

"  Ho,  sirs !  "  he  cried,  "  I  am  fain  to  bide  awhile  and 
hold  talk  with  one  Beltane,  who  styleth  himself  —  Duke  of 
Pentavalon.  Hie  ye  back,  therefore,  one  and  all,  and  wait 
me  in  Garthlaxton ;  yet,  an  I  come  not  by  sunset,  ride  forth 
and  seek  me  within  the  forest.     Go !  " 

.  Hereupon  from  the  disordered  ranks  a  sound  arose,  a 
hoarse  murmur  that  voiced  their  stark  amaze,  and,  for  a 
"while,  all  eyes  stared  upon  those  two  grim  figures  that  yet 
stood  so  close  and  brotherly.  But  Sir  Pertolepe  quelled 
them  with  a  gesture: 

"  Go !  "  he  commanded. 

So  their  disarray  fell  into  rank  and  order,  and  wheeling 
about,  they  marched  away  along  the  forest  road  with  helm 
agleam  and  pennons  a-dance,  the  while  Sir  Pertolepe  stared 
after  them,  wild  of  eye  and  with  mailed  hands  clenched; 
once  he  made  as  if  to  call  them  back:  but  Beltane's  hand 
was  heavy  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  dagger  pricked  his 
throat.  And  thus  stood  they,  side  by  side,  until  the  tramp 
of  feet  was  died  away,  until  the  last  trembling  villager  had 
slunk  from  sight  and  the  broad  road  was  deserted,  all  save 
for  Cuthbert  the  esquire,  and  divers  horses  that  lay  stiffly 
in  the  dust,  silent  and  very  still. 

Then  Beltane  sighed  and  sheathed  his  dagger,  and 
Sir  Pertolepe  faced  him  scrowling,  fierce-eyed  and  arro- 
gant. 

"  Ha,  outlaw !  "  quoth  he,  "  give  back  my  sword  and  I 
will  cope  with  thee  —  wolf's  head  though  thou  art  —  aye, 
and  any  two  other  rogues  beside." 

"  Nay,"  answered  Beltane,  "  I  fight  with  such  as  thee 
but  when  I  needs  must.  What  —  Roger !  "  he  called,  "  go 
fetch  hither  a  rope !  " 

"  Dog  —  would  ye  murder  me.''  " 


122  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Not  so,"  sighed  Beltane,  shaking  his  head,  "  have  I 
not  promised  to  leave  thee  alive  within  the  greenwood? 
Yet  I  would  see  thee  walk  in  bonds  first." 

"  Ha,  dare  ye  bind  me,  then  ?  He  that  toucheth  me, 
toucheth  Duke  Ivo  —  dare  ye  so  do,  rogue?  " 

"  Aye,  messire,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  I  dare  so.  Bring 
hither  the  rope,  Roger."  But  when  Roger  was  come  nigh. 
Sir  Pertolepe  turned  and  stared  upon  him. 

"  What !  "  cried  he,  jovial  of  voice  yet  deadly-eyed,  "  is 
it  my  runaway  hangman  in  very  sooth.  Did  I  not  pay 
thee  enough,  thou  black-avised  knave?  Did  I  not  love 
thee  for  thy  skill  with  the  noose,  thou  traitorous  rogue? 
Now,  mark  me,  Roger:  one  day  will  I  feed  thee  to  my 
hounds  and  watch  them  tear  thee,  as  they  have  certain  other 
rogues  —  aha !  —  you  mind  them,  belike  ?  " 

Pale  of  cheek  and  with  trembling  hands,  Roger  bound 
the  arms  of  him  that  had  been  his  over-lord,  while  Walkyn 
and  Giles,  silent  and  wide-eyed,  watched  it  done. 

"Whither  would  ye  take  me?"  quoth  Red  Pertolepe, 
arrogant. 

"  That  shalt  thou  know  anon,  messire." 

"  How  an  I  defy  thee?  " 

*'  Then  must  we  carry  thee,  messire,"  answered  Beltane, 
"  yet  thine  own  legs  were  better  methinks  —  come,  let  us 
begone." 

Thus,  presently,  having  forded  the  brook,  they  struck 
into  the  forest;  first  went  Walkyn,  axe  on  shoulder,  teeth 
agleam ;  next  strode  Sir  Pertolepe,  head  high,  'twixt  pale- 
faced  Roger  and  silent  Beltane,  while  the  bowman  followed 
after,  calling  upon  St.  Giles  beneath  his  breath  and  cross- 
ing himself :  and  ever  and  anon  Walkyn  would  turn  to  look 
upon  their  scowling  captive  with  eyes  that  glared  'neath 
shaggy  brows. 

Now  after  they  had  gone  some  while.  Sir  Pertolepe  brake 
silence  and  spake  my  Beltane,  proud  and  fierce. 

"  Fellow,"  quoth  he,  "  if  'tis  for  ransom  ye  hold  me, 
summon  hither  thy  rogues'  company,  and  I  will  covenant 
for  my  release." 


How  He  Had  Word  with  Pertolepe    123 

"  I  seek  no  ransom  of  thee,  messire,"  answered  Beltane, 
*'  and  for  my  company  — 'tis  here.'* 

'*  Here?     I  see  but  three  sorry  knaves !  " 

"  Yet  with  these  same  three  did  I  o'ercome  thy  foresters, 
Sir  Pertolepe." 

"  Rogue,  thou  liest  — 'tis  thing  impossible !  " 

"  INIoreover,  with  these  three  did  I,  last  night,  burn  down 
Black  Ivo's  mighty  gallows  that  stood  without  Belsaye 
town,  and,  thereafter  set  wide  the  dungeon  of  Belsaye  and 
delivered  thence  certain  woeful  prisoners,  and  sent  them 
abroad  with  word  that  I  —  Beltane,  son  of  Beltane  the 
Strong,  Duke  of  Pentavalon,  am  come  at  last,  bearing  the 
sword  of  my  father,  that  was  wont  to  strike  deep  for  lib- 
erty and  justice:  nor,  having  life,  will  I  lay  it  by  until  op- 
pression is  no  more." 

Now  indeed  did  Sir  Pertolepe  stare  upon  my  Beltane  in 
amaze  and  spake  no  word  for  wonder;  then,  of  a  sudden 
he  laughed,  scornful  and  loud. 

"  Ho !  thou  burner  of  gibbets !  "  quoth  he,  "  take  heed 
lest  thy  windy  boasting  bring  thy  lordly  neck  within  a 
noose !  Art  lusty  of  arm,  yet  lustier  of  tongue  —  and  as 
to  thy  father,  whoe'er  he  be  — " 

"Messire.''"  Beltane's  voice  was  soft,  yet,  meeting  the 
calm  serenity  of  his  gaze,  Sir  Pertolepe  checked  the  jeer 
upon  his  lip  and  stared  upon  Beltane  as  one  new-waked; 
beheld  in  turn  his  high  and  noble  look,  the  costly  excellence 
of  his  armour,  his  great  sword  and  belt  of  silver  —  and 
strode  on  thereafter  with  never  a  word,  yet  viewing  Beltane 
askance  'neath  brows  close-knit  in  dark  perplexity.  So,  at 
last,  they  came  into  a  little  clearing  deep-hid  among  the 
denser  green. 

Beltane  paused  here,  and  lifting. mailed  hand,  pointed 
to  a  certain  tree.  But  hereupon.  Sir  Pertolepe,  staring 
round  about  him  and  down  upon  his  galling  bonds, 
spake : 

"  Sir  knight,"  said  he,  "  who  thou  art  I  know  not,  yet, 
if  indeed  thou  art  of  gentle  blood,  then  know  that  I  am  Sir 
Pertolepe,   Baron   of   Trenda,   Seneschal  of  Garthlaxton, 


124  Beltane  the  Smith 

lord  warden  of  the  marches :  moreover,  friend  and  brother- 
in-arms  am  I  to  Duke  Ivo  — " 

"  Nay,"  said  Beltane,  "  all  this  I  know,  for  much  of  thee 
have  I  heard,  messire :  of  thy  dark  doings,  of  the  agony  of 
men,  the  shame  of  women,  and  how  that  there  be  many 
desolate  hearths  and  nameless  graves  of  thy  making,  lord 
Pertolepe.  Thou  wert  indeed  of  an  high  estate  and  strong, 
and  these  but  lowly  folk,  and  weak  —  yet  mercy  on  them 
had  ye  none.  I  have  this  day  heard  thee  doom  the  inno- 
cent to  death  and  bitter  shame,  and,  lord,  as  God  seeth  us, 
it  is  enough !  " 

Sir  Pertolepe's  ruddy  cheek  showed  pale,  but  his  blue 
eyes  stared  upon  Beltane  wide  and  fearless. 

"  Have  ye  then  dragged  me  hither  to  die,  messire?  " 

"  Lord  Pertolepe,  all  men  must  die,  aye,  e'en  great  lords 
such  as  thou,  when  they  have  sinned  sufficiently:  and  thy 
sins,  methinks,  do  reach  high  heaven.  So  have  I  brought 
thee  hither  into  the  wilderness  that  God's  will  may  be 
wrought  upon  thee." 

"  How  —  wilt  forswear  thyself.?  "  cried  Sir  Pertolepe, 
writhing  in  his  bonds. 

Quoth  Beltane: 

"  Come  Roger  —  Walkyn  —  bring  me  him  to  the  tree, 
yonder." 

"  Ha !  rogue  —  rogue,"  panted  Sir  Pertolepe,  "  would'st 
leave  me  to  die  in  a  noose,  unshriven  and  unannealed,  my 
soul  dragged  hell-wards  weighted  with  my  sins?  " 

Now,  even  as  he  spake,  swift  and  sudden  he  leapt  aside 
and  would  have  fled;  but  Walkyn's  fierce  fingers  dragged 
at  his  throat,  and  Roger's  iron  arms  were  close  about  him. 
Desperately  he  fought  and  struggled,  but  mighty  though 
he  was,  his  captors  were  mighty  also,  moreover  his  bonds 
galled  him ;  wherefore,  fighting  yet,  they  dragged  him  to 
the  tree,  and  to  the  tree  Beltane  fast  bound  him,  whiles  the 
forest  rang  and  echoed  with  his  panting  cries  until  his 
great  voice  cracked  and  broke,  and  he  hung  'gainst  the  tree, 
spent  and  breathless. 


How  He  Had  Word  with  Pertolepe    125 

Then  spake  Beltane,  grim-lipped  yet  soft  of  voice: 

"  Lord  Pertolepe,  fain  would  I  hang  thee  as  thou  hast 
hanged  many  a  man  ere  now  —  but  this,  methinks,  is  a 
better  way :  for  here,  unless  some  wanderer  chance  to  find 
thee,  must  thou  perish,  an  so  God  will  it.  Thus  do  we 
leave  thee  in  the  hands  of  God  to  grant  thee  life  or  death: 
and  may  he  have  mercy  on  thy  guilty  soul !  " 

Thus  said  Beltane,  sombre  of  brow  and  pale  of  cheek; 
and  so,  beckoning  to  the  others,  turned  away,  despite  Sir 
Pertolepe's  passionate  threats  and  prayers,  and  plunging 
into  the  dense  underbrush,  strode  swift-footed  from  the 
place,  with  the  captive's  wild  cries  ringing  in  his  ears. 

Haphazard  went  Beltane,  yet  straining  his  ears  to  catch 
those  mournful  sounds  that  grew  faint  and  fainter  with 
distance  till  they  were  lost  in  the  rustle  of  the  leaves.  But, 
of  a  sudden,  he  stayed  his  going  and  stood  with  his  head 
aslant  hearkening  to  a  sound  that  seemed  to  have  reached 
him  from  the  solitudes  behind ;  and  presently  It  came  again, 
a  cry  from  afar  —  a  scream  of  agony,  hoarse  and  long 
drawn  out,  a  hateful  sound  that  checked  the  breath  of  him 
and  brought  the  sweat  out  cold  upon  his  brow;  and  now, 
turning  about,  he  saw  that  his  following  was  but  two,  for 
Walkyn  had  vanished  quite.  Now  Giles,  meeting  Beltane's 
wide  stare,  must  needs  cough  and  fumble  with  his  bow, 
whiles  Roger  stood  with  bowed  head  and  fingers  tight- 
clenched  upon  his  quarter-staff:  whereat,  fierce-frowning. 
Beltane  spake. 

"  Wait !  "  he  commanded,  "  wait  you  here !  "  and  forth- 
with turned  and  ran,  and  so  running,  came  again  at  last 
to  that  obscure  glade  whence  now  came  a  sound  of  groans, 
mocked,  thereafter,  by  fierce  laughter.  Now,  bursting 
from  the  green.  Beltane  beheld  Sir  Pertolepe  writhing  in 
his  bonds  with  Walkyn's  fierce  fingers  twined  in  his  red 
hair,  and  Walkyn's  busy  dagger  at  his  upturned  brow, 
where  was  a  great,  gory  wound,  a  hideous  cruciform  blotch 
whence  pulsed  the  blood  that  covered  his  writhen  face  like 
a  scarlet  vizard. 


126  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Ah!  "  cried  Beltane,  "  what  hast  thou  done?  " 

Back  fell  Walkyn,  fierce-eyed  and  grim  yet  with  teeth 
agleam  through  the  hair  of  his  beard. 

"  Lord,"  quoth  he,  "  this  man  hath  slain  wife,  and  child 
and  brother,  so  do  I  know  him  thrice  a  murderer.  There- 
fore have  I  set  tliis  mark  of  Cain  upon  him,  that  all  men 
henceforth  may  see  and  know.  But  now,  an  it  be  so  thy 
will,  take  this  my  dagger  and  slay  me  here  and  now  —  yet 
shall  Red  Pertolepe  bear  my  mark  upon  him  when  I  am 
dead." 

Awhile  stood  Beltane  in  frowning  thought,  then  pointed 
to  the  green. 

"  Go,"  said  he,  "  the  others  wait  thee!  " 

So  Walkyn,  obeying,  turned  and  plunged  into  the  green, 
while  Beltane  followed  after,  slow  and  heavy-footed.  But 
now,  even  as  he  went,  slow  and  ever  slower,  he  lifted  heavy 
head  and  turned  about,  for  above  the  leafy  stirrings  rose 
the  mournful  lilting  of  a  pipe,  clear  and  very  sweet,  that 
drew  nearer  and  louder  until  it  was,  of  a  sudden,  drowned 
in  a  cry  hoarse  and  woeful.  Then  Beltane,  hasting  back 
soft-treading,  stood  to  peer  through  the  leaves,  and  pres- 
ently, his  cock's-comb  flaunting,  his  silver  bells  a-j  ingle, 
there  stepped  a  mountebank  into  the  clearing  —  that  same 
jester  with  whom  Beltane  had  talked  aforetime. 

"  Beda  I  "  cried  Sir  Pertolepe  faintly,  his  bloody  face 
uplifted,  "  and  is  it  forsooth,  thou,  Beda?  Come,  free 
me  of  my  bonds.  Ha !  why  stay  ye,  I  am  Pertolepe  —  thy 
lord  —  know  you  me  not,  Beda?  " 

"  Aye,  full  well  I  know  thee,  lord  Pertolepe,  thou  art  he 
who  had  me  driven  forth  with  blows  and  bitter  stripes  — 
thou  art  he  who  slew  my  father  for  an  ill-timed  jest  —  oho  ! 
well  do  I  know  thee,  my  lord  Pertolepe."  So  saying,  Beda 
the  Jester  set  his  pipe  within  his  girdle,  and,  drawing  his 
dagger,  began  to  creep  upon  Sir  Pertolepe,  who  shook  the 
dripping  blood  from  his  eyes  to  watch  him  as  he  came. 
Quote  he: 

"  Art  a  good  fool,  Beda,  aye,  a  good  fool.  And  for  thy 
father,  'twas  the  wine,  Beda  —  the  wine,  not  I  —  come. 


How  He  Had  Word  with  Pertolepe    127 

free  me  of  these  my  bonds  —  I  loved  thy  father,  e'en  as  I 
loved  thee." 

"  Yet  is  my  father  dead,  lord  —  and  I  am  outcast !  " 
said  Beda,  smiling  and  fingering  his  dagger. 

"  So  then,  will  ye  slay  me,  Beda  —  wilt  murder  thy  lord? 
Why  then,  strike,  fool,  strike  —  here,  i'  the  throat,  and 
let  thy  steel  he  hard-driven.     Come !  " 

Then  Sir  Pertolepe  feebly  raised  his  bloody  head,  prof- 
fering his  throat  to  the  steel  and  so  stood  faint  in  his 
bonds,  yet  watching  the  jester  calm-eyed.  Slowly,  slowly 
the  dagger  was  lifted  for  the  stroke  while  Sir  Pertolepe 
watched  the  glittering  steel  patient  and  unflinching ;  then, 
swift  and  sudden  the  dagger  flashed  and  fell,  and  Sir  Per- 
tolepe staggered  free,  and  so  stood  swaying.  Then,  look- 
ing down  upon  his  severed  bonds,  he  laughed  hoarsely. 

"  How,  'twas  but  a  jest,  then,  my  Beda?  "  he  whispered. 
"A  jest  —  ha!  and  methinks,  forsooth,  the  best  wilt  ever 
make ! " 

So  saying.  Sir  Pertolepe  stumbled  forward  a  pace,  grop- 
ing before  him  like  a  blind  man,  then,  groaning,  fell,  and 
lay  a-swoon,  his  bloody  face  hidden  in  the  grass. 

And  turning  away.  Beltane  left  him  lying  there  with 
Beda  the  Jester  kneeling  above  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

OF  THE  RUEFUL  KNIGHT  OF  THE  BURNING  HEART 

Southward  inarched  Beltane  hour  after  hour,  tireless  of 
stride,  until  the  sun  began  to  decline ;  on  and  on,  thoughtful 
of  brow  and  speaking  not  at  all,  wherefore  the  three  were 
gloomy  and  silent  also  —  even  Giles  had  no  mind  to  break 
in  upon  his  solemn  meditations.  But  at  last  came  Roger 
and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Master,"  said  he,  "  the  day  giroweth  to  a  close,  and  we 
famish." 

"  Why,  then  —  eat,"  said  Beltane. 

Now  while  they  set  about  building  a  fire.  Beltane  went 
aside  and  wandering  slow  and  thoughtful,  presently  came 
to  a  broad  glade  or  ride,  and  stretching  himself  out  'neath 
a  tree,  lay  there  staring  up  at  the  leafy  canopy,  pondering 
upon  Sir  Pertolepe  his  sins,  and  the  marvellous  ways  of 
God.  Lying  thus,  he  was  aware  of  the  slow,  plodding 
hoof-strokes  of  a  horse  drawing  near,  of  the  twang  of  a 
lute,  with  a  voice  sweet  and  melodious  intoning  a  chant; 
and  the  tune  was  plaintive  and  the  words  likewise,  being 
these : — 

"  Alack  and  woe 
That  love  is  so 
Akin  to  pain ! 
That  to  my  heart 
The  bitter  smart 
Returns  again. 
Alack  and  woe !  " 

Glancing  up  therefore.  Beltane  presently  espied  a  knight 
who  bestrode  a  great  and  goodly  war-horse ;  a  youthful 
knight  and  debonair,  slender  and  shapely  in  his  bright 


The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Heart     129 

mail  and  surcoat  of  flame-coloured  samite.  His  broad 
shield  hung  behind  his  shoulder,  balanced  by  a  long  lance 
whose  gay  banderol  fluttered  wanton  to  the  soft-breathing 
air;  above  his  mail-coif  he  wore  a  small  bright-polished 
bascinet,  while,  at  his  high-peaked  saddle-bow  his  pon- 
derous war-helm  swung,  together  with  broad-bladed  battle- 
axe.  Now  as  he  paced  along  in  this  right  gallant  estate, 
his  roving  glance,  by  hap,  lighted  on  Beltane,  whereupon, 
checking  his  powerful  horse,  he  plucked  daintily  at  the 
strings  of  his  lute,  delicate-fingered,  and  brake  into  song 
anew :  — 

"  Ah,  woe  is  me 
That  I  should  be 
A  lonely  wight! 
That  in  mankind 
No  joy  I  find 
By  day  or  night, 
Ah,  woe  is  me !  " 

Thereafter  he  sighed  amain  and  smote  his  bosom,  and 
smiling  upon  Beltane  sad-eyed,  spake: 

"  Most  excellent,  tall,  and  sweet  young  sir,  I,  who  Love's 
lorn  pilgrim  am,  do  give  thee  woeful  greeting  and  entreat 
now  the  courtesy  of  thy  pity." 

"  And  wherefore  pity,  sir.''  "  quoth  Beltane,  sitting  up. 

"  For  reason  of  a  lady's  silver  laughter.  A  notable 
reason  this ;  for,  mark  me,  ye  lovers,  an  thy  lady  flout  thee 
one  hour,  grieve  not  —  she  shall  be  kind  the  next ;  an  she 
scorn  thee  to-day,  despair  nothing  —  she  shall  love  thee 
to-morrow ;  but,  an  she  laugh  and  laugh  —  ah,  then  poor 
lover,  Venus  pity  thee!  Then  languish  hope,  and  tender 
heart  be  rent,  for  love  and  laughter  can  ne'er  be  kin. 
Wherefore  a  woeful  wight  am  I,  f oredone  and  all  distraught 
for  love.  Behold  here,  the  blazon  on  my  shield — lo !  a 
riven  heart  proper  (direfuUy  aflame)  upon  a  field  vert. 
The  heart,  methinks,  is  aptly  wrought  and  popped,  and  the 
flame  in  sooth  flame-like !  Here  beneath,  behold  my  motto, 
'  Ardeo  '  which  signifieth  *  I  burn.'     Other  device  have  I 


130  Beltane  the  Smith 

laid  by  for  the  nonce,  what  time  my  pilgrimage  shall  be 
accompt." 

But  Beltane  looked  not  so  much  upon  the  shield  as  on 
the  face  of  him  that  bore  it,  and  beholding  its  high  and 
fearless  look,  the  clear,  bright  eyes  and  humorous  mouth 
(albeit  schooled  to  melancholy)  he  smiled,  and  got  him  to 
his  feet. 

"  Now,  well  met,  Sir  Knight  of  the  Burning  Heart  f " 
quoth  he.  "  What  would  ye  here,  alone,  within  these  soli- 
tudes? " 

"  Sigh,  messire.     I  sing  and  sigh,  and  sigh  and  sing." 

"  'Tis  a  something  empty  life,  methinks." 

"  Not  so,  messire,"  sighed  the  rueful  knight,  "  for  when 
I  chance  to  meet  a  gentle  youth,  young  and  well  beseen  — 
as  thou,  bedight  in  goodly  mail  —  as  thou,  with  knightly 
sword  on  thigh,  why  then,  messire,  'tis  ever  my  wont  to 
declare  unto  him  that  she  I  honour  is  fairer,  nobler,  and 
altogether  more  worthy  and  virtuous  than  any  other  she 
soever,  and  to  maintain  that  same  against  him,  on  horse  or 
afoot,  with  lance,  battle-axe  or  sword.  Thus,  see  you 
messire,  even  a  love-lorn  lover  hath  betimes  his  compensa- 
tions, and  the  sward  is  soft  underfoot,  and  level."  Saying 
which,  the  knight  cocked  a  delicate  eyebrow  in  questioning 
fashion,  and  laid  a  slender  finger  to  the  pommel  of  his  long 
sword. 

"  How,"  cried  Beltane,  "  would'st  fight  with  me?  " 

"  Right  gladly  would  I,  messire  —  to  break  the  monot- 
ony." 

"  I  had  rather  hear  thy  song  again." 

"  Ha,  liked  you  it  in  sooth?  'Tis  small  thing  of  mine 
own." 

"  And  'tis  brief !  "  nodded  Beltane. 

"  Brief !  "  quoth  the  knight,  "  brief !  not  so,  most  notable 
youthful  sir,  for  even  as  love  is  long  enduring  so  is  my 
song,  it  being  of  an  hundred  and  seventy  and  eight  cantos 
in  all,  dealing  somewhat  of  the  woes  and  ills  of  a  heart  sore 
smitten  (which  heart  is  mine  own  also).  Within  my  song 
is  much  matter  of  hearts  (in  truth)  and  darts,  of  flames 


The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Heart     131 

and  shames,  of  yearnings  and  burnings,  the  which  this  poor 
heart  must  needs  endure  since  it  doth  constant  bleed  and 
burn." 

"  Indeed,  messire,  I  marvel  that  you  be  yet  alive,"  said 
Beltane  gravely,  whereat  the  young  knight  did  pause  to 
view  him,  dubious-eyed.     Quoth  he : 

"  In  sooth,  most  youthful  and  excellent  sir,  I  have  myself 
marvelled  thereat  betimes,  but,  since  alive  am  I,  now  do  I 
declare  unto  you  that  she  for  whom  I  sigh  is  the  fairest, 
gentlest,  noblest,  most  glorious  and  most  womanly  of  all 
women  in  the  world  alive  — " 

"  Save  one !  "  said  Beltane. 

"  Save  none,  messire !  "  said  the  young  knight,  eager- 
eyed. 

"  One !  "  said  Beltane. 

"  None !  "  quoth  the  knight,  as,  casting  aside  ponderous 
lance  he  vaulted  lightly  from  his  saddle  and  drew  his 
sword ;  but,  seeing  that  Beltane  bore  no  shield,  paused  to 
lay  his  own  tenderly  aside,  and  so  faced  him  serene  of  brow 
and  smiling  of  lip.  "  Sweet  sir,"  said  he  gaily,  "  here  me- 
thinks  is  fair  cause  for  argument;  let  us  then  discuss  the 
matter  together  for  the  comfort  of  our  souls  and  to  the 
glory  of  our  ladies.     As  to  my  name  — " 

"  'Tis  Jocelyn,"  quoth  Beltane. 

"  Ha !  "  exclaimed  the  knight,  staring, 

"  That  won  a  suit  of  triple  mail  at  Dunismere  joust,  and 
wagered  it  'gainst  Black  Ivo's  roan  stallion  within  Deep- 
wold  forest  upon  a  time." 

"  Now,  by  Venus ! "  cried  the  knight,  starting  back, 
"  here  be  manifest  sorcery !  Ha !  by  the  sweet  blind  boy, 
'tis  black  magic !  "  and  he  crossed  himself  devoutly.  But 
Beltane,  laughing,  put  back  his  hood  of  mail,  that  his  long, 
fair  hair  fell  a-down  rippling  to  his  shoulders. 

"  Know  you  me  not,  messire?  "  quoth  he. 

"Why,"  said  Sir  Jocelyn,  knitting  delicate  brows, 
"  surely  thou  art  the  forester  that  o'ercame  Duke  Ivo's 
wrestler;  aye,  by  the  silver  feet  of  lovely  Thetis,  thou'rt 
Beltane  the  Smith  I  " 


132  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Verily,  messire,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  and  'tis  not  meet 
that  knight  cross  blade  with  lowly  smith." 

"  Ha !  "  quoth  Sir  Jocelyn,  rubbing  at  his  smooth  white 
chin,  "  yet  art  a  goodly  man  withal  —  and  lover  to  boot  — 
methinks  ?  " 

"  Aye,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  ever  and  always." 

"  Why  then,  all's  well,"  quoth  Sir  Jocelyn  with  eyes 
a-dance,  "  for  since  true  love  knoweth  nought  of  distinc- 
tions, therefore  being  lovers  are  we  peers,  and,  being  peers, 
so  may  we  fight  together.  So  come.  Sir  Smith,  here  stand 
I  sword  in  hand  to  maintain  'gainst  thee  and  all  men  the 
fame  and  honour  of  her  I  worship,  of  all  women  alive,  maid 
or  wife  or  widow,  the  fairest,  noblest,  truest,  and  most 
love-worthy  is  — " 

"  Helen  of  Mortain !  "  quoth  Beltane,  sighing. 

"  Helen  ?  —  Helen  ?  —  thou  too !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Joce- 
lyn, and  forthwith  dropped  his  sword,  staring  in  stark 
amaze.     "How  —  dost  thou  love  her  also.'*" 

"  Aye,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  to  my  sorrow !  " 

Then  stooped  Sir  Jocelyn  and,  taking  up  his  sword, 
slowly  sheathed  it.     Quoth  he,  sad-eyed : 

"  Life,  methinks,  is  full  of  disappointments ;  farewell  to 
thee.  Sir  Smith,"  and  sighing,  he  turned  away ;  yet  ere  he 
had  taken  lance  and  shield.  Beltane  spake: 

"  Whither  away.  Sir  Jocelyn  ?  " 

"  To  sigh,  and  sing,  and  seek  adventure.  'Twas  for 
this  I  left  my  goodly  castle  of  Alain  and  journeyed,  a  lorn 
pilgrim,  hither  to  Pentavalon,  since  when  strange  stories 
have  I  heard  that  whisper  in  the  air,  speeding  from  lip  to 
lip,  of  a  certain  doughty  knight-at-arms,  valiant  beyond 
thought,  that  beareth  a  sword  whose  mighty  sweep  none 
may  abide,  who,  alone  and  unaided  slew  an  hundred  and 
twenty  and  four  within  the  greenwood,  and  thereafter,  did, 
'neath  the  walls  of  Belsaye  town  burn  down  Duke  Ivo's 
gibbet,  who  hath  sworn  to  cut  Duke  Ivo  into  gobbets,  look 
you,  and  feed  him  to  the  dogs ;  which  is  well,  for  I  love  not 
Duke  Ivo.  All  this  have  I  heard  and  much  beside,  idle 
tales  mayhap,  yet  would  I  seek  out  this  errant  Mars  and 


The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Heart     133 

prove  him,  for  mine  own  behoof,  with  stroke  of  sword." 

"And  how  an  he  prove  worthy?"  questioned  Bel- 
tane. 

"  Then  will  I  ride  with  him,  to  share  his  deeds  and  glory 
mayhap,  Sir  Smith  —  I  and  all  the  ten-sco"'e  lusty  fellows 
that  muster  to  my  pennon,  since  in  the  air  is  whispered 
talk  of  war,  and  Sir  Benedict  lieth  ready  in  Thrasfordham 
Keep." 

"  Two  hundred  men,"  quoth  Beltane,  his  blue  eyes 
agleam,  "two  hundred,  say  you.''"  and,  speaking,  he 
stepped  forward,  unsheathing  his  sword. 

"  How  now,"  quoth  Sir  Jocelyn,  "  what  would  ye,  sweet 
smith.?" 

"  I  would  have  thee  prove  me  for  thy  behoof.  Sir  Joce- 
lyn ;  for  I  am  he  that  with  aid  of  five  good  men  burned 
down  the  gibbet  without  Belsaye." 

"  Thou !  "  cried  Sir  Jocelyn,  "  and  thou  art  a  smith ! 
And  yet  needs  must  I  credit  thee,  for  thine  eyes  be  truth- 
ful eyes.  And  did'st  indeed  slay  so  many  in  the  green, 
forsooth.''  " 

"  Nay,"  answered  Beltane,  "  there  were  but  twenty ; 
moreover  I  — " 

"  Enough !  "  cried  Sir  Jocelyn,  gaily,  "  be  thou  smith  or 
be  thou  demi-god,  now  will  I  make  proof  of  thy  might  and 
valiance."     And  he  drew  sword. 

So  did  these  two  youths  face  each  other,  smiling  above 
their  gleaming  steel,  and  so  the  long  blades  rang  together, 
and,  thereafter,  the  air  was  full  of  a  clashing  din,  in  so 
much  that  Roger  came  running  sword  in  hand,  with  Wal- 
kyn  and  Giles  at  his  heels ;  but,  seeing  how  matters  stood, 
they  sat  them  down  on  the  sward,  watching  round-eyed  and 
eager. 

And  now  Sir  Jocelyn  (happy-eyed),  his  doleful  heart 
forgot,  did  show  himself  a  doughty  knight,  skipping  lightly 
to  and  fro  despite  his  heavy  armour,  and  laying  on  right 
lustily  while  the  three  a-sprawl  upon  the  grass  shouted 
gleefully  at  each  shrewd  stroke  or  skilful  parry ;  but,  once 
Sir  Jocelyn's  blade  clashed  upon  Beltane's  mailed  thigh, 


134  Beltane  the  Smith 

and  straightway  they  fell  silent ;  and  once  his  point  touched 
the  links  on  Beltane's  wide  breast,  and  straightway  their 
brows  grew  anxious  and  gloomy  —  yet  none  so  gloomy  as 
Roger.  But  now,  on  a  sudden,  was  the  flash  and  ring 
of  hard  smitten  steel,  and  behold,  Sir  Jocelyn's  sword 
sprang  from  his  grasp  and  thudded  to  earth  a  good  three 
yards  away ;  whereupon  the  three  roared  amain  —  yet 
none  so  loud  as  Roger. 

"  Now  by  sweet  Cupid  his  tender  bow ! "  panted  Sir 
Jocelyn  — "  by  the  cestus  of  lovely  Venus  —  aye,  by  the 
ox-eyed  Juno,  I  swear  'twas  featly  done,  Sir  Smith !  " 

Quoth  Beltane,  taking  up  the  fallen  sword : 

"  'Tis  a  trick  I  learned  of  that  great  and  glorious  knight. 
Sir  Benedict  of  Bourne." 

"  Messire,"  said  Sir  Jocelyn,  his  cheek  flushing,  "  an 
earl  am  I  of  thirty  and  two  quarterings  and  divers  goodly 
manors:  yet  thou  art  the  better  man,  meseemeth,  and  as 
such  do  I  salute  thee,  and  swear  myself  thy  brother-in- 
arms henceforth  —  an  ye  will." 

Now  hereupon  Beltane  turned,  and  looking  upon  the 
mighty  three  with  kindling  eye,  beckoned  them  near. 

'*  Lord  Jocelyn,"  said  he,  "  behold  here  ray  trusty  com- 
rades, valiant  men  all :  —  this,  my  faithful  Roger,  sur- 
named  the  Black:  This,  Giles  Brabblecombe,  who  shoot- 
eth  as  ne'er  did  archer  yet :  and  here,  Walkyn  —  who  hath 
known  overmuch  of  sorrow  and  bitter  wrong.  Fain  would 
we  take  thee  for  our  comrade.  Lord  Jocelyn,  for  God 
knoAvcth  Pentavalon  hath  need  of  true  men  these  days,  yet 
first,  know  this  —  that  I,  and  these  my  three  good  com- 
rades do  stand  pledged  to  the  cause  of  the  weak  and  woe- 
fully oppressed  within  this  sorrowful  Duchy;  to  smite 
evil,  nor  stay  till  we  be  dead,  or  Black  Ivo  driven  hence." 

"  Ivo  ?  —  Ivo  ?  "  stammered  Sir  Jocelyn,  In  blank  amaze, 
"  'tis  madness  !  " 

"  Thus,"  said  Beltane,  "  is  our  cause,  perchance,  a  little 
desperate,  and  he  who  companies  with  us  must  company 
with  Death  betimes." 

"  To  defy  Black  Ivo  —  ha,  here  is  madness  so  mad  as 


The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Heart    135 

pleaseth  me  right  well!  A  rebellion,  forsooth!  How 
many  do  ye  muster?  " 

Answered  Beltane: 

"  Thou  seest  —  we  be  four  — " 

"  Four !  "  cried  Sir  Jocelyn,  "  Four !  " 

"  But  Sir  Benedict  lieth  within  Thrasfordham  Keep, 
and  God  is  in  heaven,  messire." 

"  Aye,  but  heaven  is  far,  methinks,  and  Duke  Ivo  is 
near,  and  hath  an  arm  long  and  merciless.  Art  so  weary 
of  life.  Sir  Smith?" 

"  Nay,"  answered  Beltane,  "  but  to  what  end  hath  man 
life,  save  to  spend  it  for  the  good  of  his  fellows  ?  " 

'*  Art  mad ! "  sighed  Sir  Jocelyn,  "  art  surely  mad ! 
Heigho !  —  some  day,  mayhap,  it  shall  be  written  how 
one  Jocelyn  Alain,  a  gentle,  love-lorn  knight,  singing  his 
woes  within  the  greenwood,  did  meet  four  lovely  mad- 
men and  straight  fell  mad  likewise.  So  here,  upon  my 
sword,  do  I  swear  to  take  thee  for  my  brother-in-arms, 
and  these  thy  comrades  for  my  comrades,  and  to  spend 
my  life,  henceforth,  to  the  good  of  my  fellows ! " 

So  saying.  Sir  Jocelyn  smiled  his  quick  bright  smile  and 
reached  out  his  hand  to  my  Beltane,  and  there,  leaning 
upon  their  swords,  their  mailed  fingers  clasped  and  wrung 
each  other.  Thereafter  he  turned  upon  the  three,  but  even 
as  he  did  so,  Walkyn  uttered  a  fierce  cry,  and  whirling 
about  with  axe  aloft,  sprang  into  the  green,  whence  of  a 
sudden  rose  a  babel  of  voices,  and  the  sound  of  fierce  blows 
and,  thereafter,  the  noise  of  pursuit.  A  flicker  of  steel 
amid  the  green  —  a  score  of  fierce  faces  all  about  him, 
and  Beltane  was  seized  from  behind,  borne  struggling  to 
his  knees,  to  his  face,  battered  by  unseen  weapons,  dragged 
at  by  unseen  hands,  choked,  half-stunned,  his  arms  twisted 
and  bound  by  galling  thongs.  Now,  as  he  lay  thus,  help- 
less, a  mailed  foot  spurned  him  fiercely  and  looking  up, 
half-swooning,  he  beheld  Sir  Pertolepe  smiling  down  at 
him. 

"Ha  —  thou  fool!"  he  laughed  jovially,  "  did'st  think 
to  escape  me,  then  —  thou  fool,  I  have  followed  on  thy 


136 


Beltane  the  Smith 


tracks  all  day.  By  the  eyes  of  God,  I  would  have  followed 
thee  to  hell !  I  want  thee  in  Garthlaxton  —  there  be  gib- 
bets for  thee  above  the  keep  —  also,  there  are  my  hounds 
! —  aye,  I  want  thee,  Messire  Beltane  who  art  Duke  of  Pen- 
tavalon !  Ho !  Amulf  —  a  halter  for  his  ducal  throat !  " 
So,  when  they  had  cast  a  noose  about  his  neck,  they 
dragged  Beltane,  choking,  to  his  feet,  and  led  him  away 
gasping  and  staggering  through  the  green;  and  having 
eyes,  he  saw  not,  and  having  ears,  he  heard  not,  being 
very  spent  and  sick. 

Now,  as  they  went,  evening  began  to  fall. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

OF  THE  AMBUSHMENT  NEAR  THORNABY  MILL 

Little  by  little,  as  he  stumbled  along,  Beltane's  brain 
began  to  clear;  he  became  aware  of  the  ring  and  clash 
of  arms  about  him,  and  the  trampling  of  horses.  Grad- 
ually, the  mist  lifting,  he  saw  long  files  of  men-at-arms 
riding  along  very  orderly,  with  archers  and  pike-men. 
Little  by  little,  amid  all  these  hostile  forms,  he  seemed 
to  recognise  a  certain  pair  of  legs  that  went  on  just 
before:  sturdy  legs,  that  yet  faltered  now  and  then  in 
their  stride,  and,  looking  higher,  he  saw  a  broad  belt 
whose  edges  were  notched  and  saw-like,  and  a  wide,  mail- 
clad  back  that  yet  bent  weakly  forward  with  every  sham- 
bling step.  Once  this  figure  sank  to  its  knees,  but  stum- 
bled up  again  'neath  the  vicious  prick  of  a  pike-head  that 
left  blood  upon  the  bronzed  skin,  whereat  Beltane  uttered 
a  hoarse  cry. 

"  O  Black  Roger ! "  he  groaned,  "  I  grieve  to  have 
brought  thee  to  this !  " 

"  Nay,  lord,"  quoth  Roger,  lifting  high  his  drooping 
head,  "  'tis  but  my  wound  that  bleeds  afresh.  But,  bond 
or  free,  thy  man  am  I,  and  able  yet  to  strike  a  blow  on 
thy  behalf  an  heaven  so  please." 

"  Now  God  shield  thee,  brave  Roger ! "  sighed  Beltane. 

"  O  sweet  St.  Giles  —  and  what  of  me,  brother.'*  "  spake 
a  voice  in  his  ear,  and  turning,  Beltane  beheld  the  archer 
smiling  upon  him  with  swollen,  bloody  lips. 

"  Thou  here  too,  good  Giles  .f*  " 

"  Even  so,  tall  brother,  in  adversity  lo !  I  am  with 
thee  —  since  I  found  no  chance  to  run  other-where,  for 
that  divers  rogues  constrained  me  to  abide  —  notably  yon 


138 


Beltane  the  Smith 


knave  with  the  scar,  whose  mailed  fist  I  had  perforce  to 
kiss,  brother,  in  whose  dog's  carcase  I  will  yet  feather 
me  a  shaft,  sweet  St.  Giles  aiding  me  —  which  is  my 
patron  saint,  you'll  mind.  Nil  desperandum,  brother: 
bruised  and  beaten,  bleeding  and  in  bonds,  yet  I  breathe, 
nothing  desponding,  for  mark  me,  a  priori,  brother,  Wal- 
kyn  and  the  young  knight  won  free,  which  is  well ;  Walkyn 
hath  long  legs,  which  is  better ;  Walkyn  hath  many  friends 
i'  the  greenwood,  which  is  best  of  all.  So  do  I  keep  a 
merry  heart  —  dum  spiro  spero  —  trusting  to  the  good 
St.  Giles,  which,  as  methinks  you  know  is  my  — " 

The  archer  grew  suddenly  dumb,  his  comely  face 
blanched,  and  glancing  round.  Beltane  beheld  Sir  Per- 
tolepe  beside  him,  who  leaned  down  from  his  great  white 
horse  to  smile  wry-mouthed,  and  smiling  thus,  put  back 
the  mail-coif  from  his  pallid  face  and  laid  a  finger  to  the 
linen  clout  that  swathed  his  head  above  the  brows. 

"  Messire,"  said  he  soft-voiced,  "  for  this  I  might  hang 
thee  to  a  tree,  or  drag  thee  at  a  horse's  tail,  or  hew  thee 
in  sunder  with  this  great  sword  o'  thine  which  shall  be 
mine  henceforth  —  but  these  he  deaths  unworthy  of  such 
as  thou  —  my  lord  Duke !  Now  within  Garthlaxton  be 
divers  ways  and  means,  quaint  fashions  and  devices 
strange  and  rare,  messire.  And  when  I'm  done.  Black 
Roger  shall  hang  what's  left  of  thee,  ere  he  go  to  feed 
my  hounds.  That  big  body  o'  thine  shall  rot  above  my 
gate,  and  for  that  golden  head  —  ha !  I'll  send  it  to 
Duke  Ivo  in  quittance  for  his  gallows !  Yet  first  —  O, 
first  shalt  thou  sigh  that  death  must  needs  be  so  long 
a-coming!  " 

But  now,  from  where  the  van-ward  marched,  came  gal- 
loping a  tall  esquire,  who,  reining  in  beside  Sir  Pertolepe, 
pointed  down  the  hill. 

"Lord  Pertolepe,"  he  cried  joyously,  "yonder,  scarce 
a  mile,  flies  the  banner  of  Gilles  of  Brandonmere,  his  com- 
pany few,  his  men  scattered  and  heavy  with  plunder." 

"  Gilles !  "  quoth  Sir  Pertolepe.  "  Ha,  is  it  forsooth 
Gilles  of  Brandonmere.''  " 


The  Ambushment  139 

"  Himself,  lord,  and  none  other.  I  marked  plain  his 
banner  with  the  three  stooping  falcons." 

"  And  he  hath  booty,  say  you?  " 

"  In  truth,  my  lord  —  and  there  be  women  also,  three 
horse  litters  — " 

"  Ah  —  women !  Verily,  good  Fulk,  hast  ever  a  quick 
eye  for  the  flutter  of  a  kirtle.  Now,  mark  me  Fulk, 
Thornaby  Mill  lieth  in  our  front,  and  beyond,  the  road 
windeth  steep  'twixt  high  banks.  Let  archers  line  these 
banks  east  and  west:  let  the  pikemen  be  ambushed  to  the 
south,  until  we  from  the  north  have  charged  them  with 
the  horse  —  see  'tis  done,  Fulk,  and  silently  —  so  per- 
adventure,  Sir  Gilles  shall  trouble  me  no  more.  Pass  the 
word  —  away !  " 

Off  rode  Sir  Fulk,  and  straightway  the  pounding  hoofs 
were  still,  the  jingle  of  bridle  and  stirrup  hushed,  and  in 
its  place  a  vague  stir  of  bustle  and  excitement ;  of  pike- 
men  wheeling  right  and  left  to  vanish  southwards  into 
the  green,  and  of  archers  stringing  bows  and  unbuckling 
quiver-caps  ere  they  too  wheeled  and  vanished;  yet  now 
Sir  Pertolepe  stayed  four  lusty  fellows,  and  beckoning 
them  near,  pointed  to  the  prisoners. 

"  Good  fellows,"  quoth  he,  nodding  jovially  upon  the 
archers,  "  here  be  my  three  rogues,  see  you  —  who  must 
with  me  to  Garthlaxton:  one  to  die  by  slow  fire,  one  to  be 
torn  by  my  hounds,  and  one  —  this  tall  golden-haired 
youth  —  mark  him  well !  —  to  die  in  slow  and  subtle  fash- 
ion. Now  these  three  do  I  put  in  charge  of  ye  trusty 
four;  guard  them  well,  good  fellows,  for,  an  one  escape, 
so  shall  ye  all  four  die  in  his  stead  and  in  such  fashion 
as  he  should  have  died.  Ha!  d'ye  mark  me  well,  my 
merry  men  ?  " 

"  Aye,  lord !  "  nodded  the  four,  scowling  of  brow  yet 
pale-cheeked. 

"  Look  to  it  I  find  them  secure,  therefore,  and  entreat 
them  tenderly.  March  you  at  the  rear  and  see  they  take 
no  harm;  choose  ye  some  secure  comer  where  they  may 
lie   safe  from  chance  of  stray  shafts,  for  I  would  have 


140  Beltane  the  Smith 

them  come  hale  and  sound  to  Garthlaxton,  since  to  die 
well,  a  man  must  be  strong  and  hearty,  look  you.  D'ye 
mark  me  well,  good  fellows  ?  " 

"  Aye,  lord !  "  growled  the  four. 

Then  Sir  Pertolepe,  fondling  his  great  chin,  smiled  upon 
Beltane  and  lifted  Beltane's  glittering  sword  on  high, 
*'  Advance  my  banner !  "  he  cried,  and  rode  forward  among 
his  men-at-arms.  On  went  the  company,  grimly  silent 
now  save  for  the  snort  of  a  horse,  the  champing  of  curb- 
ing bits  and  the  thud  of  slow  trampling  hoofs  upon  the 
tender  grass,  as  the  west  flamed  to  sunset.  Thus  in  a 
while  they  came  to  a  place  where  the  road,  narrowing,  ran 
'twixt  high  banks  clothed  in  gorse  and  underbrush;  a 
shadowy  road,  the  which,  winding  downwards,  was  lost 
in  a  sharp  curve.  Here  the  array  was  halted,  and  abode 
very  still  and  silent,  with  helm  and  lance-point  winking  in 
the  last  red  rays  of  sunset. 

"  O  brother,"  whispered  Giles,  "  ne'er  saw  I  place 
sweeter  or  more  apt  for  ambushment.  Here  shall  be 
bloody  doings  anon,  and  we  —  helpless  as  babes  !  O  me, 
the  pity  on't !  "  But  now  with  blows  and  gibes  the  four 
archers  dragged  them  unto  a  tall  tree  that  stood  beside 
the  way,  a  tree  of  mighty  girth  whose  far-flung  branches 
cast  a  deep  gloom.  Within  this  gloom  lay  my  Beltane, 
stirring  not  and  speaking  no  word,  being  faint  and  sick 
with  his  hurts.  But  Giles  the  archer,  sitting  beside  him, 
vented  by  turns  bitter  curses  upon  Sir  Pertolepe  and 
humble  prayers  to  his  patron  saint,  so  fluent  and  so  fast 
that  prayers  and  curses  became  strangely  blent  and  min- 
gled, on  this  wise: 

"  May  Red  Pertolepe  be  thrice  damned  with  a  candle 
to  the  blessed  Saint  Giles  that  is  my  comfort  and  inter- 
cessor. May  his  bones  rot  within  him  with  my  gold  chain 
to  sweet  Saint  Giles.  May  his  tongue  wither  at  the  roots 
• —  ah,  good  Saint  Giles,  save  me  from  the  fire.  May  he 
be  cursed  in  life  and  may  the  flesh  shrivel  on  his  bones 
and  his  soul  be  eternally  damned  with  another  candle  and 
fifty  gold  pieces  to  the  altar  of  holy  Saint  Giles  — " 


The  Ambushment  141 

But  now  hearing  Roger  groan,  the  archer  paused  to 
admonish  him  thus : 

"  Croak  not,  Roger,  croak  not,"  quoth  he,  "  think  not 
upon  thy  vile  body  —  pray,  man,  pray  —  pray  thyself 
speechless.  Call  reverently  upon  the  blessed  saints  as  I 
do,  promise  them  candles,  Roger,  promise  hard  and  pray 
harder  lest  we  perish  —  I  by  fire  and  thou  by  Pertolepe's 
hounds.  111  deaths,  look  you,  aye,  'tis  a  cruel  death  to  be 
burnt  alive,  Roger !  " 

"  To  be  torn  by  hounds  is  worse !  "  growled  Roger. 

"  Nay,  my  Rogerkin,  the  fire  is  slower,  methinks  —  I 
have  watched  good  flesh  sear  and  shrivel  ere  now  —  ha ! 
by  Saint  Giles,  'tis  an  evil  subject;  let  us  rather  think 
upon  two  others." 

"  As  what,  archer?  " 

"  The  long  legs  of  our  comrade  Walkyn.  Hist !  hark 
ye  to  that  bruit!  Here  cometh  Gilles  of  Brandonmere, 
meseemeth !  "  And  now  from  the  road  in  front  rose  the 
sound  of  an  approaching  company,  the  tramp  of  weary 
horses  climbing  the  ascent  with  the  sound  of  cheery  voices 
upraised  in  song;  and  ever  the  sinking  sun  glinted  redly 
on  helm  and  lance-point  where  sat  Sir  Pertolepe's  mailed 
riders,  grim  and  silent,  while  the  cheery  voices  swelled 
near  and  more  near,  till,  all  at  once,  the  song  died  to  a 
hum  of  amaze  that  rose .  to  a  warning  shout  that  was 
drowned  in  the  blare  of  a  piercing  trumpet  blast.  Whereat 
down  swept  glittering  lance-point,  forward  leaned  shining 
bascinet,  and  the  first  rank  of  Sir  Pertolepe's  riders, 
striking  spurs,  thundered  upon  them  down  the  hill;  came 
thereafter  the  shock  of  meeting  ranks,  with  shouts  and 
cries  that  grew  to  a  muffled  roar.  Up  rose  the  dust,  an 
eddying  cloud  wherein  steel  flickered  and  dim  forms  strove, 
horse  to  horse  and  man  to  man,  while  Sir  Pertolepe,  sit- 
ting his  great  white  charger,  nursed  his  big  chin  and, 
smiling,  waited  his  chance.  Presently,  from  the  eddy- 
ing cloud  staggered  the  broken  remnant  of  Sir  Gilles' 
van-ward,  whereon,  laughing  fierce  and  loud,  Sir  Pertolepe 
rose  in  his  stirrups  with  Beltane's  long  sword  lifted  high, 


142  Beltane  the  Smith 


his  trumpets  brayed  the  charge,  and  down  the  hill  thun- 
dered Sir  Pertolepe  and  all  his  array ;  and  the  road  near 
by  was  deserted,  save  for  the  prisoners  and  the  four 
archers  who  stood  together,  their  faces  set  down-hill, 
where  the  dust  rose  denser  and  denser,  and  the  roar  of 
the  conflict  fierce  and  loud. 

But  now,  above  the  din  and  tumult  of  the  fight  below, 
shrill  and  high  rose  the  notes  of  a  horn  winded  from  the 
woods  in  the  east,  that  was  answered  —  like  an  echo,  out 
of  the  woods  in  the  west;  and,  down  the  banks  to  right 
and  left,  behold  Sir  Pertolepe's  archers  came  leaping  and 
tumbling,  pursued  by  a  hissing  arrow  shower.  Whereat 
up  sprang  Giles,  despite  his  bonds,  shouting  amain : 

"  O,  Walkyn  o'  the  Long  Legs  —  a  rescue !  To  us ! 
Arise,  I  will  arise !  "  Now  while  he  shouted  thus,  came  one 
of  the  four  archers,  and  Giles  was  smitten  to  his  knees ; 
but,  as  the  archer  whirled  up  his  quarter-staff  to  strike 
again,  an  arrow  took  him  full  in  the  throat,  and  pitching 
upon  his  face,  he  lay  awhile,  coughing,  in  the  dust. 

Now  as  his  comrades  yet  stared  upon  this  man  so  sud- 
denly dead,  down  from  the  bank  above  leapt  one  who  bore 
a  glittering  axe,  with  divers  wild  and  ragged  fellows  at 
his  heels ;  came  a  sound  of  shouting  and  blows  hard  smit- 
ten, a  rush  of  feet  and,  thereafter,  silence,  save  for  the 
din  of  battle  afar.  But,  upon  the  silence,  loud  and  sud- 
den rose  a  high-pitched  quavering  laugh,  and  Giles  spake, 
his  voice  yet  shrill  and  unsteady. 

"  'Twas  Walkyn  —  ha.  Saint  Giles  bless  Walkyn's  long 
legs !  'Twas  Walkyn  I  saw  —  Walkyn  hath  brought 
down  the  outlaws  —  the  woods  be  full  of  them.  Oho ! 
Sir  Pertolepe's  slow  fire  shall  not  roast  me  yet  awhile, 
nor  his  dogs  mumble  thy  carcase,  my  Rogerkin !  " 

"  Aye,"  quoth  Roger  feebly,  "  but  what  of  my  lord,  see 
how  still  he  lieth !  " 

"  Forsooth,"  exclaimed  the  archer,  writhing  in  his  bonds 
to  stare  upon  Beltane,  "  forsooth,  Roger,  he  took  a  dour 
ding  upon  his  yellow  pate,  look  ye ;  but  for  his  mail-coif 
he  were  a  dead  man  this  hour  — " 


The  Ambushment  143 

*'  He  lieth  very  still,"  groaned  Roger. 

"  Yet  is  he  a  mighty  man  and  strong,  my  Rogerkin  — 
never  despond,  man,  for  I  tell  thee  —  ha !  —  heard  ye  that 
outcry?  The  outlaws  be  at  work  at  last,  they  have  Sir 
Pertolepe  out-flanked  d'ye  see  —  now  might  ye  behold  what 
well-sped  shafts  can  do  upon  a  close  array  —  pretty  work 
—  sweet  work !     Would  I  knew  where  Walkyn  lay  !  " 

"  Here,  comrade ! "  said  a  voice  from  the  shade  of  the 
great  tree. 

"  How  —  what  do  ye  there  ?  "  cried  the  archer. 

"  Wait  for  Red  Pertolepe." 

"  Why  then,  sweet  Walkyn,  good  Walkyn  —  come  loose 
us  of  our  bonds  that  we  may  wait  with  thee  — " 

"  Nay,"  growled  Walkyn,  "  ye  are  the  bait.  When 
the  outlaws  have  slain  enough  of  them,  Pertolepe's  men 
must  flee  this  way :  so  will  Red  Pertolepe  stay  to  take  up 
his  prisoners,  and  so  shall  I  slay  him  in  that  moment  with 
this  mine  axe.  Ha !  —  said  I  not  so  ?  Hark !  they  break 
already!  Peace  now  —  wait  and  watch."  So  saying, 
Walkyn  crouched  behind  the  tree,  axe  poised,  what  time 
the  dust  and  roar  of  battle  rolled  toward  them  up  the 
hill.  And  presently,  from  out  the  rolling  cloud,  riderless 
horses  burst  and  thundered  past,  and  after  them  —  a  stag- 
gering rout,  mounted  and  afoot,  spurring  and  trampling 
each  other  'neath  the  merciless  arrow-shower  that  smote 
them  from  the  banks  above.  Horse  and  foot  they  thun- 
dered by  until  at  last,  amid  a  ring  of  cowering  men-at- 
arms,  Sir  Pertolepe  galloped,  his  white  horse  bespattered 
with  blood  and  foam,  his  battered  helm  a-swing  upon  its 
thongs;  grim-Hpped  and  pale  he  rode,  while  his  eyes, 
aflame  'neath  scowling  brows,  swept  the  road  this  way  and 
that  until,  espying  Beltane  'neath  the  tree,  he  swerved 
aside  in  his  career  and  strove  to  check  his  followers'  head- 
long flight. 

"  Stay,"  cried  he  striking  right  and  left.  "  Halt,  dogs, 
and  take  up  the  prisoners.  Ha !  will  ye  defy  me  — 
rogues,  caitiff's !     Fulk !  Raoul !  Denis  !     Ho,  there !  " 

But  no  man  might  stay  that  maddened  rush,  where- 


144  Beltane  the  Smith 

fore,  swearing  a  great  oath,  Sir  Pertolepe  spurred  upon 
Beltane  with  Beltane's  sword  lifted  for  the  blow.  But, 
from  the  shade  of  the  tree  a  mighty  form  uprose,  and 
Sir  Pertolepe  was  aware  of  a  hoarse,  glad  cry,  saw  the 
whirling  flash  of  a  broad  axe  and  wrenched  hard  at  his 
bridle;  round  staggered  the  white  horse,  down  came  the 
heavy  axe,  and  the  great  horse,  death-smitten,  reared  up 
and  up,  back  and  back,  and  crashing  over,  was  lost  'neath 
the  dust  of  swift-trampling  hoofs. 

Now  presently,  Beltane  was  aware  that  his  bonds 
cramped  him  no  longer,  found  Roger's  arm  about  him, 
and  at  his  parched  lips  Roger's  steel  head-piece  brimming 
with  cool,  sweet  water;  and  gulping  thirstily,  soon  felt 
the  numbness  lifted  from  his  brain  and  the  mist  from  his 
eyes ;  in  so  much  that  he  sat  up,  and  gazing  about,  be- 
held himself  alone  with  K  oger. 

Quoth  he,  looking  down  at  his  swollen  wrists : 

"  Do  we  go  free  then,  Roger?  " 

**  Aye,  master  —  though  ye  had  a  woundy  knock  upon 
the  head." 

"And  what  of  Giles?" 

"  He  is  away  to  get  him  arrows  to  fill  his  quiver,  and 
to  fill  his  purse  with  what  he  may,  for  the  dead  lie  thick  in 
the  road  yonder,  and  there  is  much  plunder." 

"And  Walkyn?" 

"  Walkyn,  master,  having  slain  Sir  Pertolepe's  horse 
yonder,  followeth  Pertolepe,  minded  straight  to  slay  him 
also." 

"  Yet  dost  thou  remain,  Roger." 

"  Aye,  lord ;  and  here  is  that  which  thou  wilt  need 
again,  methinks;  I  found  it  hard  by  Sir  Pertolepe's 
dead  horse."  So  saying,  Roger  put  Beltane's  great  sword 
into  his  hand.  Then  Beltane  took  hold  upon  the  sword, 
and  rising  to  his  feet  stretched  wide  his  arms,  and  felt  his 
strength  renewed  within  him.  Therefore  he  sheathed  the 
sword  and  set  his  hand  on  Roger's  broad,  mail-clad  shoul- 
der. 

"  Roger,"  said  he,  "  thou  faithful  Roger,  God  hath  de- 


The  Ambushment  145 

llvered  us  from  shameful  death,  wherefore,  I  hold.  He  hath 
jet  need  of  these  our  bodies." 

"As  how,  master?" 

"  As  I  went,  nigh  swooning  in  my  bonds,  methought 
I  heard  tell  that  Sir  Gilles  of  Brandonmere  had  captive 
certain  women ;  so  now  must  we  deliver  them,  thou  and  I, 
an  it  may  be  so." 

"  Lord,"  quoth  Roger,  "  Sir  Gilles  marcheth  with  the 
remnant  of  his  company,  and  we  are  but  two.  Let  us 
therefore  get  with  us  divers  of  these  outlaws." 

"  I  have  heard  tell  that  to  be  a  woman  and  captive  to 
Sir  Gilles  or  Pertolepe  the  Red  is  to  be  brought  to  swift 
and  dire  shame.  So  now  let  us  deliver  these  women  from 
shame,  thou  and  I.     Wilt  go  with  me,  Roger .''  " 

"  Aye  lord,  that  will  I :  yet  first  pray  thee  aid  me  to 
bind  a  clout  upon  my  arm,  for  my  wound  irketh  me  some- 
what." 

And  in  a  while,  when  Beltane  had  laved  and  bound  up 
Roger's  wound,  they  went  on  down  the  darkening  road 
together. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HOW    BELTANE    MET    SIR    GILLES    OF    BRANDONMERE 

It  was  a  night  of  wind  with  a  flying  cloud-wrack  overhead 
whence  peeped  the  pallid  moon  betimes;  a  night  of  gloom 
and  mystery.  The  woods  about  them  were  full  of  sounds 
and  stealthy  rustlings  as  they  strode  along  the  forest  road, 
and  so  came  to  that  dark  defile  where  the  fight  had  raged. 
Of  what  they  saw  and  heard  within  that  place  of  slaughter 
it  bodeth  not  to  tell,  nor  of  those  figures,  wild  and  fierce, 
that  crouched  to  strip  the  jumbled  slain,  or  snarled  and 
quarrelled  over  the  work. 

"  Here  is  good  plunder  of  weapons  and  armour,"  quoth 
Roger,  "  'tis  seldom  the  outlaws  come  by  such.  Hark  to 
that  cry!  There  died  some  wounded  wight  under  his 
plunderer's  knife ! " 

"  God  rest  his  soul.  Amen !  "  sighed  Beltane.  "  Come, 
let  us  hence !  "  And  forthwith  he  began  to  run.  So  in  a 
little  while  they  passed  through  that  place  of  horror  un- 
seen, and  so  came  out  again  upon  the  forest  road.  Ever 
and  anon  the  moon  sent  down  a  feeble  ray  'neath  which 
the  road  lay  a-glimmer  'twixt  the  gloom  of  the  woods, 
whence  came  groans  and  wailings  with  every  wind-gust, 
whereat  Roger  quailed,  and  fumbling  at  his  sword-hilt, 
pressed  closer  upon  Beltane. 

"  Master,"  he  whispered,  "  'tis  an  evil  night  —  methinks 
the  souls  of  the  dead  be  abroad  —  hark  to  those  sounds ! 
Master,  I  like  it  not !  — " 

"  'Tis  but  the  wind,  Roger." 

"  'Tis  like  the  cries  of  women  wailing  o'er  their  dead, 
I  have  heard  such  sounds  ere  now ;  I  would  my  belt  bore 
fewer  notches,  master !  " 

"  They  shall  be  fewer  ere  dawn,  Roger,  I  pray  God !  " 


How  Beltane  Met  Sir  Gilles    147 

**  Master  —  an  I  am  slain  this  night,  think  ye  I  must 
burn  in  hell-fire  —  remembering  these  same  notches  ?  " 

"  Nay,  for  surely  God  is  a  very  merciful  God,  Roger. 
Hark !  "  quoth  Beltane,  and  stopped  of  a  sudden,  and  thus 
above  the  wailing  of  the  wind  they  presently  heard  a  feeble 
groaning  hard  by,  and  following  the  sound,  beheld  a  blotch 
upon  the  glimmering  road.  Now  as  they  drew  near 
the  moon  peeped  out,  and  showed  a  man  huddled  'neath 
a  bush  beside  the  way,  whose  face  gleamed  pale  amid  the 
shadows. 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Roger,  stooping,  "  thou'rt  of  Brandon- 
mere.''  " 

"  Aye  —  give   me   water  —  I  was   squire  to   Sir  Gilles 

—  God's  love  —  give  me  —  water !  " 

Then  Beltane  knelt,  and  saw  this  was  but  a  youth,  and 
bidding  Roger  bring  water  from  a  brook  near  by,  took  the 
heavy  head  upon  his  knee. 

"  Messire,"  said  he,  "  I  have  heard  that  Sir  Gilles  bear- 
eth  women  captive." 

"  There  is  —  but  one,  and  she  —  a  nun.     But  nuns  are 

—  holy  women  —  so  I  withstood  my  lord  in  his  —  desire. 
And  my  lord  —  stabbed  me  —  so  must  I  die  —  of  a  nun, 
see  you !  —  Ah  —  give  me  —  water !  " 

"  Where  doth  he  ride  this  night,  messire?  " 
"  His    men  —  few  —  very    weary  —  Sir    Pertolepe's  — 
men-at-arms  —  caught  us  i'  the  sunken  road  —  Sir  Gilles 

—  to  Thornaby  Mill  —  beside  the  ford  —  O  God  — 
water !  " 

"  'Tis  here !  '^  quoth  Roger,  kneeling  beside  him ;  then 
Beltane  set  the  water  to  the  squire's  eager  lips,  but,  striv- 
ing to  drink  he  choked,  and  choking,  fell  back  —  dead. 

So  in  a  while  they  arose  from  their  knees  and  went  their 
way,  while  the  dead  youth  lay  with  wide  eyes  that  seemed 
to  out-stare  the  pallid  moon. 

Now  as  they  went  on  very  silently  together,  of  a  sud- 
den Black  Roger  caught  Beltane  by  the  arm  and  pointed 
into  the  gloom,  where,  far  before  them,  small  lights  winked 
redly  through  the  murk. 


148 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Yon  should  be  Sir  Gilles'  watch-fires !  "  he  whispered. 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  so  I  think." 

"  Master  —  what  would  ye  now?  " 

"  Pray,  Roger  —  I  pray  God  Sir  Gilles'  men  be  few, 
and  that  they  be  sound  sleepers.  Howbeit  we  will  go  right 
warily  none  the  less."  So  saying,  Beltane  turned  aside 
from  the  road  and  led  on  through  underbrush  and  thicket, 
through  a  gloom  of  leaves  where  a  boisterous  wind  rioted; 
where  great  branches,  dim  seen,  swayed  groaning  in  every 
fierce  gust,  and  all  was  piping  stir  and  tumult.  Twigs 
whipped  them  viciously,  thorns  dragged  at  them,  while 
the  wind  went  by  them,  moaning,  in  the  dark.  But,  ever 
and  anon  as  they  stumbled  forward,  guiding  themselves 
by  instinct,  the  moon  sent  forth  a  pale  beam  from  the 
whirling  cloud-wrack  —  a  phantom  light  that  stole  upon 
them,  sudden  and  ghost-like,  and,  like  a  ghost,  was  gone 
again;  what  time  Black  Roger,  following  hard  on  Bel- 
tane's heel,  crossed  himself  and  muttered  fragments  of 
forgotten  prayers.  Thus  at  last  they  came  to  the  river, 
that  flowed  before  them  vague  in  the  half-light,  whose  sul- 
len waters  gurgled  evilly  among  the  willows  that  drooped 
upon  the  marge. 

"  Master,"  said  Roger,  wiping  sweat  from  his  face, 
"  there's  evil  hereabouts  —  I've  had  a  warning  —  a  dead 
man  touched  me  as  we  came  through  the  brush  yonder." 

"  Nay  Roger,  'twas  but  some  branch  — " 

"  Lord,  when  knew  ye  a  branch  with  —  fingers  —  slimy 
and  cold  —  upon  my  cheek  here.  'Twas  a  warning,  mas- 
ter —  the  dead  hand !  One  of  us  twain  goeth  to  his  death 
this  night !  " 

"  Let  not  thine  heart  fail  therefor,  good  Roger :  man, 
being  dead,  liveth  forever  — " 

*'  Nay,  but  —  the  dead  hand,  master  —  on  my  cheek, 
here  —  Ah !  —  "  Crying  thus.  Black  Roger  sprang  and 
caught  Beltane's  arm,  gripping  it  fast,  for  on  the  air, 
borne  upon  the  wind,  yet  louder  than  the  wind,  a  shrill 
sound  rang  and  echoed,  the  which,  passing,  seemed  to  have 
stricken  the  night  to  silence.     Then  Beltane  brake  from 


How  Beltane  Met  Sir  Gilles    149 

Roger's  clasp,  and  ran  on  beside  the  river,  until,  beyond 
the  sullen  waters  the  watch-fires  flared  before  him,  in  whose 
red  light  the  mill  loomed  up  rugged  and  grim,  its 
massy  walls  scarred  and  cracked,  its  great  wheel  fallen 
to  ruin. 

Now  above  the  wheel  was  a  gap  In  the  masonry,  an  open- 
ing roughly  square  that  had  been  a  window,  mayhap, 
whence  shone  a  warm,  mellow  light. 

"  Master,"  panted  Roger,  "  a  God's  name  —  what 
was  it?  " 

"  A  woman  screamed !  "  quoth  Beltane,  staring  upon  the 
lighted  window.  As  he  spake  a  man  laughed  sleepily  be- 
side the  nearest  watch-fire,  scarce  a  bow-shot  away. 

"  Look'ee,  master,"  whispered  Roger,  "  we  may  not 
cross  by  the  ford  because  of  the  watch-fires  —  'tis  a  fair 
light  to  shoot  by,  and  the  river  is  very  deep  hereabouts." 

"  Yet  must  we  swim  it,  Roger." 

"  Lord,  the  water  is  in  flood,  and  our  armour  heavy !  " 

"  Then  must  we  leave  our  armour  behind,"  quoth  Bel- 
tane, and  throwing  back  his  hood  of  mail,  he  began  to 
unbuckle  his  broad  belt,  but  of  a  sudden,  stayed  to  point 
with  outstretched  finger.  Then,  looking  whither  he 
pointed,  Roger  saw  a  tree  whose  bole  leaned  far  out  across 
the  stream,  so  that  one  far-flung  branch  well  nigh  scraped 
the  broken  roof  of  the  mill. 

"  Yon  lieth  our  way,  Roger  —  come !  "  said  he. 

Being  come  to  that  side  of  the  tree  afar  from  the  watch- 
fires.  Beltane  swung  himself  lightly  and  began  to  climb, 
but  hearing  a  groan,  paused. 

"  Roger,"  he  whispered,  "  what  ails  thee,  Roger.?  " 

"  Alas !  "  groaned  Roger,  "  'tis  my  wound  irketh  me ;  O 
master,  I  cannot  follow  thee  this  way !  " 

"  Nay,  let  me  aid  thee,"  whispered  Beltane,  reaching 
dowTi  to  him.  But,  despite  Beltane's  strong  hand,  des- 
perately though  he  tried,  Black  Roger  fell  back,  groaning. 

"  Master,"  he  pleaded,  "  O  master,  adventure  not  alone 
lest  ill  befall  thee." 

"  Aye,  but  I  must,  Roger." 


150  Beltane  the  Smith 

Then  Roger  leaned  his  head  upon  his  sound  arm,  and 
wept  full  bitterly. 

"  O  master, —  O  sweet  lord,"  quoth  he,  "  bethink  thee 
now  of  the  warning  —  the  dead  hand  — " 
"  Yet  must  I  go,  my  Roger." 

"  Then  —  an  they  kill  thee,  lord,  so  shall  they  kill  me 
also ;  thy  man  am  I,  to  live  or  die  with  thee  — " 

"  Nay,  Roger,  sworn  art  thou  to  redeem  Pentavalon :  so 
now,  in  her  name  do  I  charge  thee,  haste  to  Sir  Jocelyn, 
an  he  yet  live  —  seek  Giles  and  Walkyn  and  whoso  else 
ye  may,  and  bring  them  hither  at  speed.  If  ye  find  me 
not  here,  then  hie  ye  all  to  Thrasfordham,  for  by  to-mor- 
row Sir  Pertolepe  and  Gui  of  Allerdale  will  have  raised  the 
country  against  us.  Go  now,  do  even  as  I  command,  and 
may  God  keep  thee,  my  faithful  Roger."  Then  Beltane 
began  to  climb,  but  being  come  where  the  great  branch 
forked,  looked  down  to  see  Roger's  upturned  face,  pale 
amid  the  gloom  below. 

"  The  holy  angels  have  thee  in  their  keeping,  lord  and 
master !  "  he  sighed,  and  so  turned  with  head  a-droop  and 
was  gone.  And  now  Beltane  began  to  clamber  out  across 
the  swirl  of  dark  waters,  while  the  tough  bough  swung  and 
swayed  beneath  him  in  every  gust  of  wind,  wherefore  his 
going  was  difficult  and  slow,  and  he  took  heed  only  to  his 
hands  and  feet. 

But,  all  at  once,  he  heard  a  bitter,  broken  cry,  and 
glancing  up,  it  chanced  that  from  his  lofty  perch  he  could 
look  within  the  lighted  window,  and  thus  beheld  a  nun, 
whose  slender,  black-robed  body  writhed  and  twisted  in 
the  clasp  of  two  leathern-clad  arms ;  vicious  arms,  that 
bent  her  back  and  back  across  the  rough  table,  until  into 
Beltane's  vision  came  the  leathern-clad  form  of  him  that 
held  her:  a  black-haired,  shapely  man,  whose  glowing 
eyes  and  eager  mouth  stooped  ever  nearer  above  the  nun's 
white  loveliness. 

And  thus  it  was  that  my  Beltane  first  looked  upon  Sir 
Gilles  of  Brandonmere.  He  had  laid  sword  and  annour 
by,  but  as  the  nun  yet  struggled  in  his  arms,  her  white 


How  Beltane  Met  Sir  Gilles     151 

hand  came  upon  and  drew  the  dagger  at  his  girdle,  yet, 
ere  she  could  strike,  Sir  Gilles  had  seen  and  leapt  back  out 
of  reach. 

Then  Beltane  clambered  on  at  speed,  and  with  every 
yard  their  voices  grew  more  loud  —  Jicrs  proud  and  dis- 
dainful, his  low  and  soft,  pierced,  now  and  then,  by  an 
evil,  lazy  laugh. 

Now  ever  as  Beltane  went,  the  branch  swayed  more 
dizzily,  bending  more  and  more  beneath  his  weight,  and 
ever  as  he  drew  nearer,  between  the  wind-gusts  came 
snatches  of  their  talk. 

"  Be  thou  nun,  or  duchess,  or  strolling  light-o'-love, 
art  woman  —  by  Venus  !  fair  and  passing  fair !  —  captive 
art  thou  —  aye,  mine,  I  tell  thee  —  yield  thee  —  hast 
struggled  long  enough  to  save  thy  modesty  —  yield  thee 
now,  else  will  I  throw  thee  to  my  lusty  rogues  without  — 
make  them  sport  — " 

"O  —  beast  —  I  fear  thee  not!  For  thy  men  —  how 
shall  they  harm  me,  seeing  I  shall  be  dead !  " 

Down  swayed  the  branch,  low  and  lower,  until  Beltane's 
mailed  foot,  a-s^ving  in  mid  air,  found  something  beneath 
—  slipped  away  —  found  it  again,  and  thereupon,  loosing 
the  branch,  down  he  came  upon  the  ruined  mill-wheel. 
Then,  standing  upon  the  wheel,  his  groping  fingers  found 
divers  cracks  in  the  worn  masonry  —  moreover  the  ivy 
was  thick;  so,  clinging  with  fingers  and  toes,  up  he  went, 
higher  and  higher  until  his  steel-mittened  hands  gripped 
the  sill:  thus,  slowly  and  cautiously  he  drew  himself  up 
until  his  golden  head  rose  above  the  sill  and  he  could  peer 
into  the  room. 

Sir  Gilles  half  stood,  half  sat  upon  the  table,  while  the 
nun  faced  him,  cold  and  proud  and  disdainful,  the  gleam- 
ing dagger  clutched  to  her  quick-heaving  bosom ;  and  Sir 
Gilles,  assured  and  confident,  laughed  softly  as  he  leaned 
so  lazily,  yet  ever  he  watched  that  gleaming  steel,  waiting 
his  chance  to  spring.  Now  as  they  stood  fronting  each 
other  thus,  the  nun  stirred  beneath  his  close  regard,  turned 
her  head,  and  on  the  instant  Beltane  knew  that  she  had 


152  Beltane  the  Smith 

seen  him;  knew  by  the  sudden  tremor  of  her  lips,  the 
widening  of  her  dark  eyes,  wherein  he  seemed  to  read  won- 
der, joy,  and  a  passionate  entreaty;  then,  even  as  he 
thrilled  to  meet  that  look,  down  swept  languorous  lid  and 
curling  lash,  and,  sighing,  she  laid  the  dagger  on  the 
table.  For  a  moment  Sir  Gilles  stared  in  blank  amaze, 
then  laughed  his  lazy  laugh. 

"Ah,  proud  beauty!  'Tis  surrender  then?"  said  he, 
and  speaking,  reached  for  the  dagger;  but  even  as  he  did 
so,  the  nun  seized  the  heavy  table  and  thrust  with  sudden 
strength,  so  that  Sir  Gilles,  taken  unawares,  staggered 
back  and  back  —  to  the  window.  Then  Beltane  reached 
up  into  the  room  and,  from  behind,  caught  Sir  Gilles  by 
the  throat  and  gripped  him  with  iron  fingers,  strangling 
all  outcry,  and  so,  drawing  himself  over  the  sill  and  into 
the  room,  dragged  Sir  Gilles  to  the  floor  and  choked  him 
there  until  his  eyes  rolled  upward  and  he  lay  like  one  dead. 
Then  swiftly  Beltane  took  ofF  the  belt  of  Sir  Gilles  and 
buckled  it  tight  about  the  wrists  and  arms  of  Sir  Gilles, 
and,  rending  strips  from  Sir  Gilles'  mantle  that  lay  near, 
therewith  fast  gagged  and  bound  him.  Now  it  chanced 
that  as  he  knelt  thus,  he  espied  the  dagger  where  it  lay, 
and  taking  it  up,  glanced  from  it  to  Sir  Gilles  lying 
motionless  in  his  bonds.  But  as  he  hesitated,  there  came 
a  sudden  knocking  on  the  door  and  a  voice  spake  without: 

"  My  lord !  my  lord  — 'tis  I  — 'tis  Lupo.  My  lord,  our 
men  be  few  and  wearied,  as  ye  know.  Must  I  set  a  guard 
beyond  the  ford,  think  you,  or  will  the  four  watch-fires 
suffice?  " 

Now,  glancing  up,  scarce  breathing.  Beltane  beheld  the 
nun  who  crouched  down  against  the  wall,  her  staring  eyes 
turned  towards  the  door,  her  cheeks  ashen,  her  lips 
a-quiver  with  deadly  fear.  Yet,  even  so,  she  spake.  But 
that  'twas  she  indeed  who  uttered  the  words  he  scarce 
could  credit,  so  soft  and  sweetly  slumberous  was  her  voice : 

"  My  lord  is  a-weary  and  sleepeth.  Hush  you,  and 
come  again  with  the  dawn."  Now  was  a  moment's  breath- 
less silence  and  thereafter  an  evil  chuckle,  and,  so  chuck- 


How  Beltane  Met  Sir  Gilles    153 

ling,  the  man  Lupo  went  down  the  rickety  stair  without. 
And  when  his  step  was  died  away,  Beltane  drew  a  deep 
breath,  and  together  they  arose,  and  so,  speaking  no  word, 
they  looked  upon  each  other  across  the  prostrate  body  of 
Sir  Gilles  of  Brandonmere. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

CONCEENING  THE  EYES  OF  A  NUN 

Eyes  long,  thick-lashed  and  darkly  blue  that  looked  up 
awhile  into  his  and  anon  were  hid  'neath  languorous-droop- 
ing lids ;  a  nose  tenderly  aquiline ;  lips,  red  and  full,  that 
parted  but  to  meet  again  in  sweet  and  luscious  curves ;  a 
chin  white,  and  round,  and  dimpled. 

This  Beltane  saw  'twixt  hood  and  wimple,  by  aid  of  the 
torch  that  flickered  against  the  wall;  and  she,  conscious 
of  his  look,  stood  with  white  hands  demurely  crossed  upon 
her  rounded  bosom,  with  eyes  abased  and  scarlet  lips  apart, 
as  one  who  waits  —  expectant.  Now  hereupon  my  Bel- 
tane felt  himself  vaguely  at  loss,  and  finding  he  yet  held 
the  dagger,  set  it  upon  the  table  and  spake,  low-voiced. 

"  Reverend  Mother  — "  he  began,  and  stopped  —  for  at 
the  word  her  dark  lashes  lifted  and  she  stared  upon  him 
curiously,  while  slowly  her  red  lips  quivered  to  a  smile. 
And  surely,  surely  this  nun  so  sweet  and  saintly  in  veiling 
hood  and  wimple  was  yet  a  very  woman,  young  and  pass- 
ing fair ;  and  the  eyes  of  her  —  how  deep  and  tender  and 
yet  how  passionate !  Now  beholding  her  eyes,  memory 
stirred  within  him  and  he  sjghed,  whereat  she  sighed  also 
and  meekly  bowed  her  head,  speaking  him  with  all  humility. 

"  Sweet  son,  speak  on  —  thy  reverend  mother  heareth." 

Now  did  Beltane,  my  Innocent,  rub  his  innocent  chin 
and  stand  mumchance  awhile,  finding  nought  to  say  — 
then: 

"  Lady,"  he  stammered,  "  lady  —  since  I  have  found 
thee  —  let  us  go  while  yet  we  may." 

"  Messire,"  says  she,  with  eyes  still  a-droop,  "  came  you 
in  sooth  —  in  quest  of  me.''" 


Concerning  the  Eyes  of  a  Nun      155 

"  Yea,  verily.  I  heard  Sir  Gilles  had  made  captive  of 
a  nun,  so  came  I  to  deliver  her  —  an  so  it  might  be." 

"  E'en  though  she  were  old,  and  wrinkled,  and  tooth- 
less, messire?  " 

"  Lady,"  says  my  Innocent,  staring  and  rubbing  his 
chin  a  little  harder,  "  surely  all  nuns,  young  and  old,  be 
holy  women,  worthy  a  man's  reverence  and  humble  service. 
So  would  I  now  bear  thee  from  this  unhallowed  place  — 
we  must  be  far  hence  ere  dawn  —  come !  " 

"Aye,  but  whither.?"  she  sighed,  "death  is  all  about 
us,  messire  —  how  may  we  escape  it.''  And  I  fear  death 
no  whit  —  now,  messire !  " 

"  Aye,  but  I  do  so,  lady,  since  I  have  other  and  greater 
works  yet  to  achieve." 

"  How,  messire,  is  it  so  small  a  thing  to  have  saved  a 
nun  —  even  though  she  be  neither  old,  nor  wrinkled,  nor 
toothless .''  "  And  behold,  the  nun's  meek  head  was  high 
and  proud,  her  humility  forgotten  quite. 

Then  she  frowned,  and  'neath  her  sombre  draperies  her 
foot  fell  a-tapping;  a  small  foot,  dainty  and  slender  in 
its  gaily  broidered  shoe,  so  much  at  variance  with  her 
dolorous  habit.  But  Beltane  recked  nought  of  this,  for, 
espying  a  narrow  window  in  the  opposite  wall,  he  came 
thither  and  thrusting  his  head  without,  looked  down  upon 
the  sleeping  camp.  And  thus  he  saw  that  Sir  Gilles'  men 
were  few  indeed,  scarce  three-score  all  told  he  counted  as 
they  lay  huddled  about  the  smouldering  watch-fires,  deep- 
slumbering  as  only  men  greatly  wearied  might.  Even  the 
sentinels  nodded  at  their  posts,  and  all  was  still  save  for 
the  rush  of  a  sudden  wind-gust,  or  the  snort  and  tram- 
phng  of  the  horses.  And  leaning  thus.  Beltane  marked 
well  where  the  sentinels  lolled  upon  their  pikes,  or  marched 
drowsily  to  and  fro  betwixt  the  watch-fires,  and  long  he 
gazed  where  the  horses  were  tethered,  two  swaying,  tram- 
pling lines  dim-seen  amid  the  further  shadows.  Now 
being  busied  measuring  with  his  eye  the  distances  'twixt 
sentinel  and  sentinel,  and  noting  where  the  shadows  lay 
darkest,,  he  was  suddenly  aware  of  the  nun  close  beside 


156 


Beltane  the  Smith 


him,  of  the  feel  of  her,  soft  and  warm  against  him,  and 
starting  at  the  contact,  turned  to  find  her  hand,  small 
and  white,  upon  his  mailed  arm. 

"  Sweet  son,"  said  she  soft-voiced,  from  the  shadow  of 
her  sombre  hood,  "  thy  reverend  mother  now  would  chide 
thee,  for  that  having  but  short  while  to  live,  thou  dost 
stand  thus  mumchance,  staring  upon  vacancy  —  for,  with 
the  dawn,  we  die." 

Quoth  Beltane,  deeply  conscious  of  the  slender  hand: 

"  To  die,  nay  —  nay  —  thou'rt  too  young  and  fair  to 
die—" 

Sighed  she,  with  rueful  smile: 

"  Thou  too  art  neither  old  nor  cold,  nor  bent  with 
years,  fair  son.  Come  then,  till  death  let  us  speak  to- 
gether and  comfort  each  other.  Lay  by  thy  melancholy 
as  I  now  lay  by  this  hood  and  wimple,  for  the  night  is 
hot  and  close,  methinks." 

"  Nay,  lady,  indeed  'tis  cool,  for  there  is  much  wind 
abroad,"  says  Beltane,  my  Innocent.  "  Moreover,  while 
standing  here,  methinks  I  have  seen  a  way  whereby  we 
may  win  free  — " 

Now  hereupon  she  turned  and  looked  on  him,  quick- 
breathing  and  with  eyes  brim-full  of  fear. 

"  Messire !  "  she  panted,  "  O  messire,  bethink  thee.  For 
death  am  I  prepared  —  to  live  each  moment  fully  till  the 
dawn,  then  when  they  came  to  drag  me  down  to  —  to 
shame,  then  should  thy  dagger  free  me  quite  —  such  death 
I'd  smile  to  meet.  But  ah!  should  we  strive  to  flee,  and 
thou  in  the  attempt  be  slain  —  and  I  alive  —  the  sport 
of  that  vile  rabblement  below  —  O,  Christ, —  not  that !  '* 
and  cowering,  she  hid  her  face. 

"  Noble  lady,"  said  Beltane,  looking  on  her  gentle-eyed, 
"  indeed  I  too  had  thought  on  that ! "  and,  coming  to  the 
table,  he  took  thence  the  dagger  of  Sir  Gilles  and  would 
have  put  it  in  her  hand,  but  lo !  she  shrank  away. 

"  Not  that,  messire,  not  that,"  she  sighed,  "  thy  dagger 
let  it  be,  since  true  knight  art  thou  and  honourable,  I  pray 
you  give  me  thine.     It  is  thy  reverend  mother  asks,"  and 


Concerning  the  Eyes  of  a  Nun      157 

smiling  pale  and  wan,  she  reached  out  a  white,  imperious 
hand.  So  Beltane  drew  his  dagger  and  gave  it  to  her 
keeping;  then,  having  set  the  other  in  his  girdle,  he 
crossed  to  the  door  and  stood  awhile  to  hearken. 

"  Lady,"  said  he,  "  there  is  no  way  for  us  but  this 
stair,  and  meseemeth  'tis  a  dangerous  way,  yet  must  we 
tread  it  together.  Reach  me  now  thy  hand  and  set  it 
here  in  my  girdle,  and,  whatsoe'er  befall,  loose  not  thy 
hold."  So  saying.  Beltane  drew  his  sword  and  set  wide 
the  door.  "  Look  to  thy  feet,"  he  whispered,  "  and  tread 
soft ! "  Then,  with  her  trailing  habit  caught  up  in  her 
left  hand  and  with  her  right  upon  his  belt,  the  nun  fol- 
lowed Beltane  out  upon  the  narrow  stair.  Step  by  step 
they  stole  downwards  into  the  dark,  pausing  with  breath 
in  check  each  time  the  timbers  creaked,  and  hearkening 
with  straining  ears.  Down  they  went  amid  the  gloom 
until  they  spied  an  open  door  below,  beyond  which  a  dim 
light  shone,  and  whence  rose  the  snoring  of  wearied 
sleepers.  Ever  and  anon  a  wind-gust  smote  the  ancient 
mill  and  a  broken  shutter  rattled  near  by,  what  time  they 
crept  a  pace  down  the  creaking  stair  until  at  last  they 
stood  upon  the  threshold  of  a  square  chamber  upon  whose 
broken  hearth  a  waning  fire  burned,  by  whose  uncertain 
light  they  espied  divers  vague  forms  that  stirred  now  and 
then  and  groaned  in  their  sleep  as  they  sprawled  upon  the 
floor:  and  Beltane  counted  three  who  lay  'twixt  him  and 
the  open  doorway,  for  door  was  there  none.  Awhile  stood 
Beltane,  viewing  the  sleepers  'neath  frowning  brows,  then, 
sheathing  his  sword,  he  turned  and  reached  out  his  arms 
to  the  nun  in  the  darkness  and,  in  the  dark,  she  gave  her- 
self, warm  and  yielding,  into  his  embrace,  her  arms  clung 
soft  about  him,  and  he  felt  her  breath  upon  his  cheek,  as 
clasping  his  left  arm  about  her,  he  lifted  her  high  against 
his  breast.  And  now,  even  as  she  trembled  against  him, 
so  trembled  Beltane  also  yet  knew  not  why ;  therefore  of  a 
sudden  he  turned  and  stepped  into  the  chamber.  A  man 
started  up  beside  the  hearth,  muttering  evilly;  and  Bel- 
tane, standing  rigid,  gripped  his  dagger  to  smite,  but  even 


158 


Beltane  the  Smith 


then  the  muttering  ceased,  and  falling  back,  the  man  rolled 
over  and  fell  a-snoring  again.  So,  lightly,  swiftly.  Bel- 
tane strode  over  the  sprawling  sleepers  —  out  through  the 
open  doorway  —  out  into  the  sweet,  cool  night  beyond  — 
out  into  the  merry  riot  of  the  wind.  Swift  and  sure  of 
foot  he  sped,  going  ever  where  the  shadows  lay  deepest, 
skirting  beyond  reach  of  the  paling  watch-fires,  until  he 
was  come  nigh  where  the  horses  stamped  and  snorted. 
Here  he  set  the  nun  upon  her  feet,  and  bidding  her  stir 
not,  crept  towards  the  horses,  quick-eyed  and  watchful. 
And  thus  he  presently  espied  a  man  who  leaned  him  upon 
a  long  pike,  his  face  set  toward  the  nearest  watch-fire: 
and  the  man's  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  snored  gently. 
Then  Beltane  shifted  his  dagger  to  his  left  hand,  and 
being  come  within  reach,  drew  back  his  mailed  fist  and 
smote  the  sleeper  betwixt  his  closed  eyes,  and  catching 
him  as  he  fell,  laid  him  gently  on  the  grass. 

Now  swift  and  silent  came  Beltane  to  where  the  horses 
champed,  and  having  made  choice  of  a  certain  powerful 
beast,  slipped  off  his  chain  mittens  and  rolled  back  sleeve 
of  mail  and,  low-stooping  in  the  shadow,  sought  and  found 
the  ropes  whereto  the  halters  were  made  fast,  and  straight- 
way cut  them  in  sunder.  Then,  having  looked  to  girth 
and  bridle,  he  vaulted  to  the  saddle,  and  drawing  sword, 
shouted  his  battle-cry  fierce  and  loud :  "  Arise !  Arise !  " 
and,  so  shouting,  smote  the  frighted  horses  to  right  and 
left  with  the  flat  of  the  long  blade,  so  that  they  reared 
up  whinnying,  and  set  off  a-galloping  in  all  directions, 
filling  the  air  with  the  thunder  of  their  rushing  hoofs. 

And  now  came  shouts  and  cries  with  a  prodigious  con- 
fusion and  running  to  and  fro  about  the  dying  watch-fires. 
Trumpets  blared  shrill,  hoarse  voices  roared  commands 
that  passed  unheeded  in  the  growing  din  and  tumult  that 
swelled  to  a  wild  clamour  of  frenzied  shouting: 

"  Fly !  fly !  Pertolepe  is  upon  us !  'tis  the  Red  Per- 
tolepe !  " 

But  Beltane,  riding  warily  amid  the  gloom,  came  to  that 
place  where  he  had  left  the  nun,  yet  found  her  not,  and 


Concerning  the  Eyes  of  a  Nun      159 

immediately  was  seized  of  a  great  dread.  But  as  he  stared 
wildly  about  him,  he  presently  heard  a  muffled  cry,  and 
spurring  thitherwards,  beheld  two  dim  figures  that  swayed 
to  and  fro  in  a  fierce  grapple.  Riding  close,  Beltane  saw 
the  glint  of  mail,  raised  his  sword  for  the  blow,  felt  a 
shock  —  a  searing  smart,  and  knew  himself  wounded ;  but 
now  she  was  at  his  stirrup,  and  stooping,  he  swung  her 
up  to  the  withers  of  his  horse,  and  wheeling  short  about, 
spurred  to  a  gallop ;  yet,  as  he  rode,  above  the  rush  of 
wind  and  thud  of  hoofs,  he  heard  a  cry,  hoarse  and  dolo- 
rous. On  galloped  Beltane  all  unheeding,  until  he  came 
*neath  the  leafy  arches  of  the  friendly  woods,  within  whose 
gloom  needs  must  he  ride  at  a  hand's  pace.  Thus,  as 
they  went,  they  could  hear  the  uproar  behind  —  a  con- 
fused din  that  waxed  and  waned  upon  the  wind. 

But  Beltane,  riding  slow  and  cautious  within  the  green, 
heeded  this  not  at  all,  nor  the  throb  of  his  wounded  arm, 
nor  aught  under  heaven  save  the  pressure  of  this  slender 
body  that  lay  so  still,  so  warm  and  soft  within  his  arm ; 
and  as  he  went,  he  began  to  wish  for  the  moon  that  he 
might  see  her  face. 

Blue  eyes,  long  and  heavy-lashed!  Surely  blue  eyes 
were  fairest  in  a  woman?  And  then  the  voice  of  her, 
liquid  and  soft  like  the  call  of  merle  or  mavis.  And  she 
was  a  nun!  How  white  and  slim  her  hands,  yet  strong 
and  resolute,  as  when  she  grasped  the  dagger  'gainst  Sir 
Gilles ;  aye  —  resolute  hands,  like  the  spirit  within  her 
soft  and  shapely  body.  And  then  again  —  her  lips ;  red 
and  full,  up-curving  to  sweet,  slow  smile,  yet  withal  tinged 
with  subtle  mockery.  With  such  eyes  and  such  lips  she 
might  —  aye,  but  she  was  a  nun  —  a  nun,  forsooth ! 

"  Messire !  "  Beltane  started  from  his  reverie.  "  Art 
cold,  messire?  " 

"  Cold  !  "  stammered  Beltane,  "  cold?    Indeed  no,  lady." 

"  Yet  dost  thou  tremble !  " 

"  Nathless,  I  am  not  cold,  lady." 

"  Then  wherefore  tremble?  " 

"Nay,  I  —  I  know  not.     In  sooth,  do  I  so,  lady?" 


i6o  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Verily,  sir,  and  therewith  sigh,  frequent  and  O,  most 
dolorous  to  hear !  " 

Now  at  this,  my  Beltane  finding  naught  to  say,  straight- 
way sighed  again ;  and  thus  they  rode  awhile,  speaking 
nothing. 

"  Think  you  we  are  safe,  messire?  "  she  questioned  him 
at  last. 

"  Tis  so  I  pray,  lady." 

"  Thou  hast  done  right  valiantly  to-night  on  my  be- 
half," says  she.     "  How  came  you  in  at  the  window.?  " 

"  Hy  means  of  a  tree,  lady." 

"  Art  very  strong,  messire,  and  valiant  beyond  thought. 
Thou  hast  this  night,  with  thy  strong  hand,  lifted  me  up 
from  shameful  death:  so,  by  right,  should  my  life  be  thine 
henceforth."  Herewith  she  sighed,  leaning  closer  upon 
his  breast,  and  Beltane's  desire  to  see  her  face  grew  amain. 

"  Messire,"  said  she,  "  methinks  art  cold  indeed,  or  is  it 
that  I  weary  thee  ?  " 

"  Nay,  thou'rt  wondrous  easy  to  bear  thus,  lady." 

"And  whither  do  ye  bear  me,  sir  —  north  or  south? 
And  yet  it  mattereth  nothing,"  says  she,  soft-voiced, 
"  since  we  are  safe  —  together !  "  Now  hereafter,  as 
Beltane  rode,  he  turned  his  eyes  full  oft  to  heaven  — 
yearning  for  the  moon. 

"What  woods  be  these,  messire?"  she  questioned. 

"  'Tis  the  wilderness  that  lieth  betwixt  Pentavalon  and 
Mortain,  lady." 

"  Know  ye  Mortain,  sir?  " 

"  Yea,  verily,"  he  answered,  and  sighed  full  deep.  And 
as  he  sighed,  lo,  in  that  moment  the  moon  peeped  forth  of 
a  cloud-rift  and  he  beheld  the  nun  looking  up  at  him  with 
eyes  deep  and  wistful,  and,  as  she  gazed,  her  lips  curved 
in  slow  and  tender  smile  ere  her  lashes  drooped,  and  sigh- 
ing, she  hid  her  face  against  him  in  the  folds  of  her  mantle, 
while  Beltane  must  needs  bethink  him  of  other  eyes  so  very 
like,  and  yet  so  false,  and  straightway  —  sighed. 

"  Messire,"  she  murmured,  "  pray  now,  wherefore  do  ye 
sigh  so  oft?  " 


Concerning  the  Eyes  of  a  Nun      i6i 

"  For  that  thine  eyes  do  waken  memory,  lady." 

"  Of  a  woman?  " 

"Aye  —  of  a  woman." 

"And  thou  dost  —  love  her,  messire?" 

"  Unto  my  dole,  lady." 

"  Ah,  can  it  be  she  doth  not  love  thee,  messire.'  " 

"  Indeed,  'tis  most  certain !  " 

"  Hath  she  then  told  thee  so  —  of  herself.?  " 

"  Nay,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  not  in  so  many  words,  lady, 
and  yet  — " 

"  And  yet,"  quoth  the  nun,  suddenly  erect,  "  thou  must 
needs  run  away  and  leave  her  —  poor  sweet  wretch  —  to 
mourn  for  thee,  belike,  and  grieve  —  aye,  and  scorn  thee 
too  for  a  faint-heart !  " 

"  Nay,  lady,  verily  I  — " 

"  O,  indeed  methinks  she  must  contemn  thee  in  her 
heart,  poor,  gentle  soul  —  aye,  scorn  and  despise  thee 
woefully  for  running  away;  indeed,  'tis  beyond  all  doubt, 
messire!  " 

"  Lady,"  quoth  Beltane,  flushing  in  the  dark,  "  you 
know  naught  of  the  matter  — " 

"  Why  then  shalt  thou  tell  me  of  it,  messire  —  lo,  I  am 
listening."  So  saying,  she  settled  herself  more  aptly 
within  his  encircling  arm. 

"  First,  then,"  said  Beltane,  when  they  had  ridden 
awhile  in  silence,  "  she  is  a  duchess,  and  very  proud." 

"  Yet  is  she  a  woman,  messire,  and  thou  a  man  whose 
arms  be  very  strong !  " 

"  Of  what  avail  strong  arms,  lady,  'gainst  such  as 
she.?" 

"  Why,  to  carry  her  withal,  messire." 

"  To  —  to  carry  her  !  "  quoth  Beltane  in  amaze. 

"  In  very  truth,  messire.  To  lift  her  up  and  bear  her 
away  with  thee  — " 

"Nay  —  nay,  to  —  bear  her  away.?  O,  'twere  thing 
impossible !  " 

"Is  this  duchess  so  heavy,  messire.?"  sighed  the  nun, 
"  is  she  a  burden  beyond  even  thy  strength,  sir  knight .?  '* 


1 62  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Lady,  she  is  the  proud  Helen,  Duchess  of  Mortain ! " 
quoth  Beltane,  frowning  at  the  encompassing  shadows. 
Now  was  the  nun  hushed  awhile,  and  when  at  last  she 
spake  her  voice  was  low  and  wondrous  gentle. 

"  And  is  it  indeed  the  wilful  Helen  that  ye  love,  mes- 
sire?" 

*'  Even  she,  unto  my  sorrow." 

"Thy  sorrow?     Why  then,  messire  —  forget  her." 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  Beltane,  "  would  I  might  indeed,  yet 
needs  must  I  love  her  ever." 

"  Alack,  and  is  it  so  forsooth,"  quoth  the  nun,  sighing 
likewise.  "  Ah  me,  my  poor,  fond  son,  now  doth  thy 
reverend  mother  pity  thee  indeed,  for  thou'rt  in  direful 
case  to  be  her  lover,  methinks." 

Now  did  my  Beltane  frown  the  blacker  by  reason  of 
bitter  memory  and  the  pain  of  his  wound. 

"  Her  lover,  aye !  "  quoth  he,  bitterly,  "  and  she  hath 
a  many  lovers  — " 

"  Lovers  1 "  sighed  the  nun,  "  that  hath  she,  the  sad, 
sweet  soul !  Lovers !  —  O  forsooth,  she  is  sick  of  a  very 
surfeit  of  lovers, —  so  hath  she  fled  from  them  all !  " 

"  Fled  from  them?  "  cried  Beltane,  his  wound  forgot, 
"  fled  from  them  —  from  Mortain  ?  Nay,  how  mean 
you  —  how  —  fled  ?  " 

"  She  hath  walked,  see  you,  run  —  ridden  —  is  riding  — 
away  from  Mortain,  from  her  lords,  her  counsellors,  her 
varlets,  her  lovers  and  what  not  —  in  a  word,  messire,  she 
is  —  gone !  " 

"  Gone ! "  quoth  Beltane,  breathless  and  aghast, 
*'  gone  —  aye  —  but  whither  ?  " 

"  What  matter  for  that  so  long  as  her  grave  counsellors 
be  sufficiently  vexed,  and  her  lovers  left  a-sighing?  O  me, 
her  counsellors !  Bald-pates,  see  you,  and  grey-beards, 
who  for  their  own  ends  would  have  her  wed  Duke  Ivo  — ' 
meek,  unfortunate  maid!" 

"  Know  you  then  the  Duchess,  lady?  " 

"  Aye,  forsooth,  and  my  heart  doth  grieve  for  her, 
poor,  sweet  wretch,  for  0,  'tis  a  sad  thing  to  be  a  duchess 


Concerning  the  Eyes  of  a  Nun      163 

with  a  multitude  of  suitors  a-wooing  in  season  and  out, 
vaunting  graces  she  hath  not,  and  bHnd  to  the  virtues 
she  doth  possess.  Ah,  messire,  I  give  thee  joy  that,  what- 
soever ills  may  be  thine,   thou  can  ne'er  be  —  a  duch- 


ess 


I  » 


"  And  think  you  she  will  not  wed  with  Ivo,  lady  —  think 
jou  so  in  truth?  " 

"  Never,  while  she  is  Helen." 

"  And  —  loveth  —  none  of  her  lovers  ?  " 

"  Why  —  indeed,  messire  —  I  think  she  doth  — " 

"  Art  sure?     How  know  you  this?  " 

"  I  was  her  bedfellow  betimes,  and  oft  within  the  night 
have  heard  her  speak  a  name  unto  her  pillow,  as  love-sick 
maids  will." 

Now  once  again  was  Beltane  aware  of  the  throb  and 
sting  of  his  wounded  arm,  yet  'twas  not  because  of  this  he 
sighed  so  deep  and  oft. 

"Spake  she  this  name  —  often?"  he  questioned. 

"  Very  oft,  messire.  Aye  me,  how  chill  the  wind 
blows!" 

"  Some  lord's  name,  belike?  " 

"  Nay,  'twas  no  lord's  name,  messire.  'Tis  very  dark 
amid  these  trees  !  " 

"  Some  knight,  mayhap  —  or  lowly  squire?  " 

"  Neither,  messire.  Heigho !  methinks  I  now  could 
sleep  awhile."  So  she  sighed  deep  yet  happily,  and  nestled 
closer  within  his  shielding  arm. 

But  Beltane,  my  Innocent,  rode  stiff  in  the  saddle, 
staring  sad-eyed  into  the  gloom,  nor  felt,  nor  heeded  the 
yielding  tenderness  of  the  shapely  young  body  he  held,  but 
plodded  on  through  the  dark,  frowning  blacker  than  the 
night.  Now  as  he  rode  thus,  little  by  little  the  pain  of 
his  wound  grew  less,  a  drowsiness  crept  upon  him,  and 
therewith,  a  growing  faintness.  Little  by  little  his  head 
drooped  low  and  lower,  and  once  the  arm  about  the  nun 
slipped  its  hold,  whereat  she  sighed  and  stirred  sleepily 
upon  his  breast.  But  on  he  rode,  striving  grimly  against 
the  growing  faintness,  his  feet  thrust  far  within  the  stir- 


164 


Beltane  the  Smith 


rups,  his  mailed  hand  tight  clenched  upon  the  reins.  So, 
as  dawn  broke,  he  heard  the  pleasant  sound  of  running 
water  near  by,  and  as  the  light  grew,  saw  they  were  come 
to  a  grassy  glade  where  ran  a  small  brook  —  a  goodly 
place,  well-hidden  and  remote.  So  turned  he  thitherward, 
and  lifting  up  heavy  eyes,  beheld  the  stars  paling  to  the 
dawn,  for  the  clouds  were  all  passed  away  and  the  wind 
was  gone  long  since.  And,  in  a  while,  being  come  within 
the  boskage  of  this  green  dell,  feebly  and  as  one  a-dream, 
he  checked  the  great  horse  that  snuffed  eagerly  toward  the 
murmuring  brook,  and  as  one  a-dream  saw  that  she  who 
had  slumbered  on  his  breast  was  awake  —  fresh  and  sweet 
as  the  dawn. 

"  Lady,"  he  stammered,  "I  —  I  fear  —  I  can  ride  — 
no  farther !  " 

And  now,  as  one  a-dream,  he  beheld  her  start  and  look 
at  him  with  eyes  wide  and  darkly  blue  —  within  whose 
depths  was  that  which  stirred  within  him  a  memory  of 
other  days  —  in  so  much  he  would  have  spoken,  yet  found 
the  words. unready  and  hard  to  come  by. 

"  Lady, —  thine  eyes,  methinks  —  are  not  —  nun's 
eyes ! " 

But  now  behold  of  a  sudden  she  cried  out,  soft  and  piti- 
ful, for  blood  was  upon  him,  upon  his  brow,  upon  his 
golden  hair.  And  still  as  one  a-dream  he  felt  her  slip 
from  his  failing  clasp,  felt  her  arms  close  about  him,  aid- 
ing him  to  earth. 

"  Thou'rt  hurt !  "  she  cried.  "  O,  thou'rt  wounded ! 
And  I  never  guessed !  " 

"  'Tis  but  my  arm  —  in  sooth  —  and  — " 

But  she  hushed  him  with  soft  mother-cries  and  tender- 
spoke  commands,  and  aiding  him  to  the  brook,  laid  him 
thereby  to  lave  his  hurt  within  the  cool,  sweet  water ;  and, 
waking  with  the  smart,  Beltane  sighed  and  turned  to  look 
up  at  her.  Now  did  she,  meeting  his  eyes,  put  up  one 
white  hand,  setting  back  sombre  hood  and  snowy  wimple, 
and  stooping  tenderly  above  him,  behold,  in  that  moment 
down  came  the  shining  glory  of  her  lustrous  hair  to  fall 


Concerning  the  Eyes  of  a  Nun      165 

about  the  glowing  beauty  of  her  face,  touching  his  brow 
like  a  caress. 

Then,  at  last,  memory  awoke  within  him,  and  lifting 
himself  upon  a  feeble  elbow,  he  stared  upon  her  glowing 
loveliness  with  wide,  glad  eyes. 

"Helen!"  he  sighed,  "O  — Helen!"  And,  so  sigh- 
ing, fell  back,  and  lay  there  pale  and  wan  within  the  dawn, 
but  with  a  smile  upon  his  pallid  lips. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HOW   BELTANE   PUGHTED   HIS   TROTH  IN   THE   GREEN 

Beltane  yawned  prodigiously,  stretched  mightily,  and 
opening  sleepy  eyes  looked  about  him.  He  lay  'neath 
shady  willows  within  a  leafy  bower;  before  him  a  brook 
ran  leaping  to  the  sunshine  and  filling  the  warm,  stilly  air 
with  its  merry  chatter  and  soft,  laughing  noises,  while 
beyond  the  rippling  water  the  bank  sloped  steeply  upward 
to  the  green  silence  of  the  woods. 

Now  as  Beltane  lay  thus  'twixt  sleeping  and  waking,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  in  the  night  he  had  dreamed  a  won- 
drous dream,  and  fain  he  would  have  slept  again.  But 
now  from  an  adjacent  thicket  a  horse  whinnied  and  Bel- 
tane, starting  at  the  sound,  felt  his  wound  throb  with 
sudden  pain,  and  looking  down,  beheld  his  arm  most  aptly 
swathed  in  bandages  of  fair,  soft  linen.  Now  would  he 
have  sat  up,  but  marvelled  to  find  It  so  great  a  matter, 
and  propping  himself  Instead  upon  a  weak  elbow  glanced 
about  him  expectantly.  And  lo,  in  that  moment,  one 
spake  near  by  in  voice  rich  and  soft  like  the  call  of  merle 
or  mavis : 

"  Beltane,"  said  the  voice,  "  Beltane  the  Smith !  " 

With  heart  quick-beating,  Beltane  turned  and  beheld 
the  Duchess  Helen  standing  beside  him,  her  glorious  hair 
wrought  into  two  long  braids  wherein  flowers  were  cun- 
ningly entwined.  Straightway  he  would  have  risen,  but 
she  forbade  him  with  a  gesture  and,  coming  closer,  sank 
beside  him  on  her  knees,  and  being  there  blushed  and 
sighed,  yet  touched  him  not. 

"  Thou'rt  hurt,"  said  she,  "  so  must  we  bide  here 
awhile,  thou  to  win  thy  strength  again,  and  I  to  —  min- 
ister unto  thee." 


How  Beltane  Plighted  His  Troth      167 

Mutely  awhile  my  Beltane  gazed  upon  her  shy,  sweet 
loveliness,  what  time  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  tempestuous, 
and  she  bowed  her  head  full  low. 

"  Helen !  "  he  whispered  at  last,  "  O,  art  thou  indeed 
the  Duchess  Helen  ?  " 

"  Not  so,"  she  murmured,  "  Helen  was  duchess  whiles 
she  was  in  Mortain,  but  I  that  speak  with  thee  am  a 
lonely  maid  —  indeed  a  very  lonely  maid  —  who  hath 
sighed  for  thee,  and  wept  for  thee,  and  for  thee  hath  left 
her  duchy  of  Mortain,  Beltane." 

"For  me?"  quoth  Beltane,  leaning  near,  "was  it  for 
me  —  ah,  was  it  so  in  very  sooth?  " 

*'  Beltane,"  said  she,  looking  not  toward  him,  "  last 
night  did'st  thou  bear  a  nun  within  thine  arms,  and,  look- 
ing on  her  with  love  aflame  within  thine  eyes,  did  yet  vow 
to  her  you  loved  this  duchess.  Tell  me,  who  am  but  a 
lonely  maid,  is  this  so  ?  " 

"  Thou  knowest  I  love  her  ever  and  always,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  And  yet,"  quoth  she,  shaking  her  head  and  looking 
up  with  eyes  of  witchery,  "  thou  did'st  love  this  nun  also  ? 
Though  'tis  true  thou  did'st  name  her  *  reverend  mother ' ! 
O,  wert  very  blind.  Beltane!  And  yet  thou  did'st  love 
her  also,  methinks?" 

"  Needs  must  I  —  ever  and  always !  "  he  answered. 

"  Ah,  Beltane,  but  I  would  have  thee  love  this  lonely 
maid  dearest  of  all  henceforth  an  it  may  be  so,  for  that 
she  is  so  very  lonely  and  hath  sought  thee  so  long  — " 

"  Sought  me?  "  he  murmured,  gazing  on  her  wide-eyed, 
"  nay,  how  may  this  be,  for  with  my  kisses  warm  upon  thy 
lips  thou  did'st  bid  me  farewell  long  time  since  at  Mortain, 
within  the  green." 

"  And  thou,"  she  sighed,  "  and  thou  did'st  leave  me. 
Beltane!  O,  would  thou  had  kissed  me  once  again  and 
held  me  in  thine  arms,  so  might  we  have  known  less  of  sor- 
row. Indeed  methinks  'twas  cruel  to  leave  me  so,  Bel- 
tane." 

"  Cruel ! "  says  my  Beltane,  and  thereafter  fell  silent 


1 68  Beltane  the  Smith 

from  sheer  amaze  the  while  she  sighed  again,  and  bowed 
her  shapely  head  and  plucked  a  daisy  from  the  grass  to 
turn  it  about  and  about  in  gentle  fingers. 

"  So,  Beltane,"  quoth  she  at  last,  "  being  young  and 
cruel  thou  did'st  leave  the  Duchess  a  lonely  maid.  Yet 
that  same  night  did  she,  this  tender  maid,  seek  out  thy 
lowly  dwelling  'mid  the  green  to  yield  herself  j  oyf ully  unto 
thee  thenceforth.  But  ah,  Beltane!  she  found  the  place 
a  ruin  and  thou  wert  gone,  and  O,  methinks  her  heart 
came  nigh  to  breaking.  Then  did  she  vow  that  no  man 
might  ever  have  her  to  his  love  —  save  only  —  thou.  So, 
an  thou  love  her  not,  Beltane,  needs  must  she  —  die  a 
maid ! " 

Now  Beltane  forgot  his  weakness  and  rose  to  his  knees 
and  lifted  her  bowed  head  until, he  might  look  deep  within 
the  yearning  tenderness  of  her  eyes.  A  while  she  met  his 
look,  then  blushing,  trembling,  all  in  a  moment  she  swayed 
toward  him,  hiding  her  face  against  him;  and,  trembling 
also.  Beltane  caught  her  close  within  his  arms  and  held 
her  to  his  heart. 

"Dost  thou  love  me  so,  indeed,  my  lady.^  Art  thou 
mine  own  henceforth,  Helen  the  Beautiful  .f*  " 

"  Ah,  love,"  she  murmured,  "  in  all  my  days  ne'er  have 
I  loved  other  man  than  thou,  my  Beltane.  So  now  do  I 
give  myself  to  thee ;  in  life  and  death,  in  j  oy  and  sorrow, 
thine  will  I  be,  beloved !  " 

Quoth  Beltane: 

"  As  thou  art  mine,  so  am  I  thine,  henceforth  and  for- 
ever." 

And  thus,  kneeling  together  within  the  wilderness  did 
they  plight  their  troth,  low-voiced  and  tremulous,  with 
arms  that  clasped  and  clung  and  eager  lips  that  parted 
but  to  meet  again. 

"  Beltane,"  she  sighed,  "  ah,  Beltane,  hold  me  close  t 
I've  wearied  for  thee  so  long  —  so  long ;  hold  me  close, 
beloved.  See  now,  as  thou  dost  hate  the  pomp  and  stir 
of  cities,  so,  for  thy  sake  have  I  fled  hither  to  the  wilder- 
ness, to  live  with  thee  amid  these  solitudes,  to  be  thy  love, 


How  Beltane  Plighted  His  Troth      169 

thy  stay  and  comfort.  Here  will  we  live  for  each  other, 
and,  hid  within  the  green,  forget  the  world  and  all  things 
else  —  save  only  our  great  love !  " 

But  now  it  chanced  that,  raising  his  head.  Beltane  be- 
held his  long  sword  leaning  against  a  tree  hard  by,  and 
beholding  it  thus,  he  bethought  him  straightway  of  the 
Duke  his  father,  of  Pentavalon  and  of  her  grievous 
wrongs ;  and  his  clasping  hands  grew  lax  and  fell  away 
and,  groaning,  he  bowed  his  head;  whereat  she  started 
anxious-eyed,  and  questioned  him,  soft  and  piteous : 

"Is  it  thy  wound?  I  had  forgot  —  ah,  love,  forgive 
me !  See  here  a  pillow  for  thy  dear  head  — "  But  now 
again  he  caught  her  to  him  close  and  fierce,  and  kissed  her 
oft;  and  holding  her  thus,  spake: 

"  Thou  knowest  I  do  love  thee,  my  Helen  ?  Yet  be- 
cause I  love  thee  greatly,  love,  alas,  must  wait  awhile  — " 

"  Wait?  "  she  cried,  "  ah,  no  —  am  I  not  thine  own?  " 

"  'Tis  so  I  would  be  worthy  of  thee,  beloved,"  he  sighed, 
"  for  know  that  I  am  pledged  to  rest  not  nor  stay  until 
my  task  be  accomplished  or  I  slain  — " 

"Slain!     Thou?" 

"  O,  Helen,  'tis  a  mighty  task  and  desperate,  and  many 
perchance  must  die  ere  this  my  vow  be  accomplished  — " 

"  Thy  vow  ?  But  thou  art  a  smith,  my  Beltane, —  what 
hath  humble  smith  to  do  with  vows  ?  Thou  art  my  love  — 
my  Beltane  the  Smith !  " 

"  Indeed,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  smith  was  I  aforetime,  and 
therewithal  content :  yet  am  I  also  son  of  my  father,  and 
he—" 

"  Hark ! "  she  whispered,  white  hand  upon  his  lips, 
"  some  one  comes — through  the  leaves  yonder !  "  So  say- 
ing she  sprang  lightly  to  her  feet  and  stood  above  him 
straight  and  tall:  and  though  she  trembled,  yet  he  saw 
her  eyes  were  fearless  and  his  dagger  gleamed  steady  in 
her  hands. 

"  Beltane,  my  love ! "  she  said,  "  thou'rt  so  weak,  yet 
am  I  strong  to  defend  thee  against  them  all." 

But  Beltane  rose  also  and,  swaying  on  unsteady  feet, 


lyo  Beltane  the  Smith 

kissed  her  once  and  so  took  his  sword,  marvelling  to  find 
it  so  heavy,  and  drew  it  from  the  scabbard.  And  ever 
upon  the  stilly  air  the  inistle  of  leaves  grew  louder. 

"  Beltane !  "  she  sighed,  "  they  be  very  near !  Hearken ! 
Beltane  —  thine  am  I,  in  life,  in  death.  An  this  be 
death  —  what  matter,  since  we  die  together  ?  " 

But,  leaning  on  his  sword.  Beltane  watched  her  with 
eyes  of  love  yet  spake  no  word,  hearkening  to  the  growing 
stir  amid  the  leaves,  until,  of  a  sudden,  upon  the  bank 
above,  the  underbrush  was  parted  and  a  man  stood  looking 
down  at  them ;  a  tall  man,  whose  linked  mail  glinted  evilly 
and  whose  face  was  hid  'neath  a  vizored  casque.  Now 
of  a  sudden  he  put  up  his  vizor  and  stepped  toward  them 
down  the  sloping  bank. 

Then  the  Duchess  let  fall  the  dagger  and  reached  out 
her  hands. 

"  Godric!  "  she  sighed,  "  0  Godric! » 


CHAPTER  XXI 

OF  THE  TALE  OF  GODEIC   THE  HUNTSMAN 

Thus  came  white-haired  old  Godric  the  huntsman,  lusty 
despite  his  years,  bright-eyed  and  garrulous  with  joy,  to 
fall  upon  his  knees  before  his  lady  and  to  kiss  those  out- 
stretched hands. 

"  Godric !  "  she  cried,  "  'tis  my  good  Godric !  "  and 
laughed,  though  with  lips  a-tremble. 

"  O  sweet  mistress,"  quoth  he,  "  now  glory  be  to  the 
kind  Saint  Martin  that  I  do  see  thee  again  hale  and  well. 
These  many  days  have  I  followed  hard  upon  thy  track, 
grieving  for  thee  — " 

"Yet  here  am  I  in  sooth,  my  Godric,  and  joyful,  see 
you!" 

"  Ah,  dear  my  lady,  thy  wilfulness  hath  e'en  now 
brought  thee  into  dire  perils  and  dangers.  O  rueful 
day !  " 

"  Nay,  Godric,  my  wilfulness  hath  brought  me  unto  my 
heart's  desire.     O  most  joyful  day!" 

"  Lady,  I  do  tell  thee  here  is  an  evil  place  for  thee :  they 
do  say  the  devil  is  abroad  and  goeth  up  and  down  and  to 
and  fro  begirt  in  mail,  lady,  doing  such  deeds  as  no  man 
ever  did.  Pentavalon  is  rife  with  war  and  rumours  of 
war,  everywhere  is  whispered  talk  of  war  —  death  shall  be 
busy  within  this  evil  Duchy  ere  long  —  aye,  and  even  in 
Mortain,  perchance  —  nay,  hearken !  Scarce  was  thy 
flight  discovered  when  there  came  messengers  hot-foot  to 
thy  guest,  Duke  Ivo,  having  word  from  Sir  Gui  of  Aller- 
dale  that  one  hath  arisen  calling  himself  son  of  Beltane 
the  Strong  that  once  was  Duke  of  Pentavalon,  as  ye  know. 
And  this  is  a  mighty  man,  who  hath,  within  the  week, 
broke  ope  my  lord  Duke  Ivo's  dungeon  of  Belsaye,  slain 


172  Beltane  the  Smith 

divers  of  my  lord  Duke's  good  and  loyal  subjects,  and 
burnt  down  the  great  gallows  of  my  lord  Duke." 

"  Ah ! "  sighed  the  Duchess,  her  brows  knit  thought- 
fully, "  and  what  said  Duke  Ivo  to  this,  Godric  ?  " 

"  Smiled,  lady,  and  begged  instant  speech  with  thee ; 
and,  when  thou  wert  not  to  be  found,  then  Duke  Ivo  smiled 
upon  thy  trembling  counsellors.  '  My  lords,'  said  he,  '  I 
ride  south  to  hang  certain  rogues  and  fools.  But,  when 
I  have  seen  them  dead,  I  shall  come  hither  again  to  woo 
and  wed  the  Duchess  Helen.  See  to  it  that  ye  find  her, 
therefore,  else  will  I  myself  seek  her  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  Mortain  until  I  find  her  —  aye,  with 
lighted  torches,  if  need  be !  " 

*'  And  dare  he  threaten  us  ?  "  cried  the  Duchess,  white 
hands  clenched. 

"  Aye,  doth  he,  lady,"  nodded  Godric,  garrulous  and 
grim.  "  Thereafter  away  he  rode,  he  and  all  his  company, 
and  after  them,  I  grieving  and  alone,  to  seek  thee,  dear 
my  lady.  And  behold,  I  have  found  thee,  the  good  Saint 
Martin  be  praised !  " 

"  Verily  thou  hast  found  me,  Godric ! "  sighed  the 
Duchess,  looking  upon  Beltane  very  wistfully. 

"  So  now  will  I  guide  thee  back  to  thine  own  fair  duchy, 
gentle  mistress,  for  I  do  tell  thee  here  in  Pentavalon  shall 
be  woeful  days  anon.  Even  as  I  came,  with  these  two 
eyes  did  I  behold  the  black  ruin  of  Duke  Ivo's  goodly  gal- 
lows —  a  woeful  sight !  And  divers  tales  have  I  heard 
of  this  gallows-burner,  how  that  he  did,  unaided  and  alone, 
seize  and  bear  off  upon  his  shoulders  one  Sir  Pertolepe  — • 
called  the  *  Red  ' —  Lord  Warden  of  the  Marches.  So 
hath  Duke  Ivo  put  a  price  upon  his  head  and  decreed 
that  he  shall  forthright  be  hunted  down,  and  thereto  hath 
sent  runners  far  and  near  with  his  exact  description,  the 
which  have  I  heard  and  can  most  faithfully  repeat  an  you 
so  desire?  " 

"  Aye  me !  "  sighed  the  Duchess,  a  little  wearily. 

"  As  thus,  lady.  Item :  calleth  himself  Beltane,  son  of 
Beltane,  Duke  of  Pentavalon  that  was :  Item  — " 


The  Tale  of  Godric  the  Huntsman     173 

"  Beltane !  "  said  the  Duchess,  and  started. 

"  Item :  he  is  very  tall  and  marvellous  strong.  Item : 
hath  yellow  hair  — " 

"  Yellow  hair !  "  said  the  Duchess,  and  turned  to  look 
upon  Beltane. 

"  Item :  goeth  in  chain-mail,  and  about  his  middle  a 
broad  belt  of  gold  and  silver.  Item:  beareth  a  great 
sword  whereon  is  graven  the  legend  —  lady,  dost  thou  at- 
tend?—  Ha!  Saint  Martin  aid  us!"  cried  Godric,  for 
now,  following  the  Duchess's  glance,  he  beheld  Beltane 
leaning  upon  his  long  sword.  Then,  while  Godric  stared 
open-mouthed,  the  Duchess  looked  on  Beltane,  a  new  light 
in  her  eyes  and  with  hands  tight  clasped,  while  Beltane 
looking  upon  her  sighed  amain. 

"  Helen !  "  he  cried,  "  O  Helen,  'tis  true  that  I  who  am 
Beltane  the  Smith,  am  likewise  son  of  Beltane,  Duke  of 
Pentavalon.  Behold,  the  sword  I  bear  is  the  sword  of 
the  Duke  my  father,  nor  must  I  lay  it  by  until  wrong  is 
vanquished  and  oppression  driven  hence.  Thus,  see  you, 
I  may  not  stay  to  love,  within  my  life  it  must  not  be  — 
yet-a-while,"  and  speaking.  Beltane  groaned  and  bowed 
his  head.  So  came  she  to  him  and  looked  on  him  with  eyes 
of  yearning,  yet  touched  him  not. 

"  Dear  my  lord,"  said  she,  tender-voiced,  "  thou 
should'st  make  a  noble  duke,  methinks :  and  yet  alas !  needs 
must  I  love  my  gentle  Beltane  the  Smith.  And  I  did  love 
him  so!  Thou  art  a  mighty  man-at-arms,  my  lord,  and 
terrible  in  war,  meseemeth,  O  —  methinks  thou  wilt  make 
a  goodly  duke  indeed !  " 

"  Mayhap,"  he  answered  heavily,  "  mayhap,  an  God 
spare  me  long  enough.     But  now  must  I  leave  thee  — " 

*'  Aye,  but  wherefore  ?  " 

"  Thou  hast  heard  —  I  am  a  hunted  man  with  a  price 
upon  my  head,  by  my  side  goeth  death  — " 

"  So  will  I  go  also,"  she  murmured,  *'  ever  and  always 
beside  thee." 

"Thou?  Ah,  not  so,  beloved.  I  must  tread  me  this 
path  alone.     As  for  thee  —  haste,  haste  and  get  thee  to 


174  Beltane  the  Smith 

Mortain  and  safety,  and  there  wait  for  me  —  pray  for 
me,  O  my  love !  " 

"  Beltane  —  Beltane,"  she  sighed,  "  dost  love  me  in- 
deed —  and  yet  would  send  me  from  thee?  " 

"  Aye,"  he  groaned,  "  needs  must  it  be  so." 

"  Beltane,"  she  murmured,  "  Beltane,  thou  shalt  be 
Duke  within  the  week,  despite  Black  Ivo." 

"  Duke  —  I  ?     Of  Pentavalon  ?  " 

"  Of  Mortain !  "  she  whispered,  "  an  thou  wilt  wed  me, 
my  lord." 

"  Nay,"  stammered  Beltane,  "  nay,  outcast  am  I,  my 
friends  very  few  —  to  wed  thee  thus,  therefore,  were 
shame  — " 

"  To  wed  me  thus,"  said  she,  "  should  be  my  joy,  and 
thy  joy,  and  Pentavalon's  salvation,  mayhap.  O,  see  you 
not,  Beltane?  Thou  should'st  be  henceforth  my  lord,  my 
knight-at-arms  to  lead  my  powers  'gainst  Duke  Ivo, 
teaching  Mortain  to  cringe  no  more  to  a  usurper  —  to 
free  Pentavalon  from  her  sorrows  —  ah,  see  you  not.  Bel- 
tane?" 

"  Helen  !  "  he  murmured,  "  O  Helen,  poor  am  I  —  a 
beggar  — " 

"  Beltane,"  she  whispered,  "  an  thou  wed  this  lonely 
maid  within  the  forest,  then  will  I  be  beggar  with  thee; 
but,  an  thou  take  to  wife  the  Duchess,  then  shalt  thou  be 
my  Duke,  lord  of  me  and  of  Mortain,  with  her  ten  thousand 
lances  in  thy  train." 

"  Thou  would'st  give  me  so  much,"  he  sighed  at  last, 
"  so  much,  my  Helen?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  she,  with  red  lips  curved  and  tender,  "  for 
this  wide  world  to  me  is  naught  without  thee,  Beltane. 
And  I  do  need  thy  mighty  arm  —  to  shelter  me.  Beltane, 
since  Ivo  hath  defied  me,  threatening  Mortain  with  fire  and 
sword.  So  when  he  cometh,  instead  of  a  woman  he  shall 
find  a  man  to  withstand  him,  whose  sword  is  swift  and 
strong  to  smite  and  who  doeth  such  deeds  as  no  man  ever 
did ;  so  shalt  thou  be  my  love,  my  lord,  my  champion. 
Wilt  not  refuse  me  the  shelter  of  thy  strength.  Beltane?  " 


The  Tale  of  Godric  the  Huntsman     175 

Now  of  a  sudden  Beltane  lifted  his  head  and  seized  her 
in  his  arms  and  held  her  close. 

Quoth  he: 

"  So  be  it,  my  Helen.  To  wife  will  I  take  thee  so  soon 
as  may  be,  to  hold  thee  ever  in  love  and  reverence,  to 
serve  thee  ever,  to  live  for  thee  and  for  thee  to  die  an 
needs  be." 

But  now  strode  Godric  forward,  with  hands  outstretched 
in  eager  protest. 

"  Lady,"  he  cried,  "  O  dear  lady  bethink  thee,  now,  be- 
think thee,  thy  choice  is  a  perilous  choice  — " 

"  Yet  is  it  my  choice,  Godric." 

"  But,  O,  dear  my  mistress  — " 

"  O  my  faithful  Godric,  look  now  upon  lord  Beltane, 
my  well-beloved  who  shall  be  Duke  of  Mortain  ere  the  moon 
change.      Salute  thy  lord,  Godric !  " 

So,  perforce,  came  old  Godric  to  fall  upon  his  knee  be- 
fore Beltane,  to  take  his  hand  and  swear  the  oath  of 
fealty. 

"  Lord  Beltane,"  said  he,  "  son  art  thou  of  a  mighty 
Duke ;  God  send  Mortain  find  in  thee  such  another !  " 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Beltane. 

Thereafter  Godric  rose  and  pointed  up  to  the  zenith. 

"  Behold,  my  lady,"  said  he,  "  it  groweth  to  noon  and 
there  is  danger  hereabouts  —  more  danger  e'en  than  I  had 
dreamed.  Let  us  therefore  haste  over  into  Mortain  —  to 
thy  Manor  of  Blaen." 

"  But  Godric,  see  you  not  my  lord  is  faint  of  his  wound, 
and  Blaen  is  far,  methinks." 

"  Not  so,  lady,  'tis  scarce  six  hours'  journey  to  the 
north,  nay,  I  do  know  of  lonely  bridle-paths  that  shall 
bring  us  sooner." 

"To  Blaen?"  mused  the  Duchess.  "  Winfrida  is 
there  —  and  yet  —  and  yet  —  aye,  let  us  to  Blaen,  there 
will  I  nurse  thee  to  thy  strength  again,  my  Beltane,  and 
there  shalt  thou  —  wed  with  me  —  an  it  be  so  thy  pleas- 
ure in  sooth,  my  lord." 

So,  in  a  while,  they  set  off  through  the  forest,  first 


176 


Beltane  the  Smith 


Godric  to  guide  them,  then  Beltane  astride  the  great  war- 
horse  with  the  Duchess  before  him,  she  very  anxious  for 
his  wound,  yet  speaking  oft  of  the  future  with  flushing 
cheek  and  eyes  a-dream. 

Thus,  as  the  sun  decHned,  they  came  forth  of  the  forest- 
lands  and  beheld  that  broad  sweep  of  hill  and  dale  that 
was  Mortain. 

"  O  loved  Mortain ! "  she  sighed,  "  O  dear  Mortain ! 
'Tis  here  there  lived  a  smith,  my  Beltane,  who  sang  of  and 
loved  but  birds  and  trees  and  flowers.  'Tis  here  there 
lived  a  Duchess,  proud  and  most  disdainful,  who  yearned 
for  love  yet  knew  naught  of  it  until  —  upon  a  day,  these 
twain  looked  within  each  other's  eyes  —  O  day  most  bliss- 
ful !     Ah,  sweet  Mortain !  " 

By  pleasant  ways  they  went,  past  smiling  fields  and 
sleepy  villages  bowered  'mid  the  green.  They  rode  ever 
by  sequestered  paths,  skirting  shady  wood  and  coppice 
where  birds  sang  soft  a  drowsy  lullaby,  wooing  the  world 
to  forgetfulness  and  rest;  fording  prattling  brook  and 
whispering  stream  whose  placid  waters  flamed  to  the  glory 
of  sunset.  And  thus  they  came  at  last  to  Blaen,  a  clois- 
tered hamlet  beyond  which  rose  the  grey  walls  of  the 
ancient  manor  itself. 

Now  as  they  drew  near,  being  yet  sheltered  'mid  the 
green,  old  Godric  halted  in  his  stride  and  pointed  to  the 
highway  that  ran  in  the  vale  below. 

"  Lady,"  quoth  he,  "  mine  eyes  be  old,  and  yet  methinks 
I  should  know  yon  horseman  that  rideth  unhelmed  so  close 
beside  the  lady  Winfrida  —  that  breadth  of  shoulder !  that 
length  of  limb !     Lady,  how  think  ye  ?  " 

"  'Tis  D-uke  Ivo !  "  she  whispered. 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Godric,  "  armed,  see  you,  yet  with  but 
two  esquires  — " 

"  And  with  Winfrida ! "  said  the  Duchess,  frowning. 
"  Can  it  indeed  be  as  I  have  thought,  betimes  ?  And 
Blaen  is  a  very  solitary  place !  " 

"  See !  "  whispered  Godric,  "  the  Duke  leaveth  her.  Be- 
hold him  kiss  her  hand!     Ha,  he  summoneth  his  esquires. 


The  Tale  of  Godric  the  Huntsman     177 

Hey  now,  see  how  they  ride  —  sharp  spur  and  loose  bridle, 
'tis  ever  Ivo's  way  !  " 

Now  when  the  Duke  and  his  esquires  were  vanished  in 
the  dusk  and  the  sound  of  their  galloping  died  away,  the 
Duchess  sprang  lightly  to  the  sward  and  bidding  them 
wait  until  she  summoned  them,  hasted  on  before. 

Thus,  in  a  while,  as  Winfrida  the  Fair  paced  slowly 
along  upon  her  ambling  palfrey,  her  blue  eyes  a-dream, 
she  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  rustling  near  by  and,  glancing 
swiftly  up,  beheld  the  Duchess  Helen  standing  before  her, 
tall  and  proud,  her  black  brows  wrinkled  faintly,  her  eyes 
stem  and  challenging. 

"  Lad}'^  —  dear  my  lady !  "  stammered  Winfrida  — "  is 
it  thou  indeed  — " 

*'  Since  when,"  quoth  the  Duchess,  soft-voiced  yet 
menacing,  "  since  when  doth  Winfrida  hold  sly  meeting 
with  one  that  is  enemy  to  me  and  to  Mortain.''  " 

"Enemy.''  —  nay*  whom  mean  you  —  indeed  I  —  O 
Helen,  in  sooth  'twas  but  by  chance  — " 

"  Is  this  treason,  my  lady  Winfrida,  or  only  foolish 
amourette?  " 

"  Sweet  lady  — 'twas  but  chance  —  an  you  mean  Duke 
Ivo  —  he  came  —  I  saw  — " 

"  My  lady  Winfrida,  I  pray  you  go  before,  we  will 
speak  of  this  anon.      Come,  Godric !  "  she  called. 

Then  the  lady  Winfrida,  her  beauteous  head  a-droop, 
rode  on  before,  sighing  deep  and  oft  yet  nothing  speaking, 
with  the  Duchess  proud  and  stem  beside  her  while  Beltane 
and  Godric  followed  after. 

And  so  it  was  they  came  to  the  Manor  of  Blaen. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CONCERNING  THE  WILES  OF  WINFRIDA  THE  FAIR 

Now  in  these  days  did  my  Beltane  know  more  of  joy  and 
come  more  nigh  to  happiness  than  ever  in  his  life  before. 
All  day,  from  morn  till  eve,  the  Duchess  was  beside  him ; 
each  hour  her  changing  moods  won  him  to  deeper  love, 
each  day  her  glowing  beauty  enthralled  him  the  more,  so 
that  as  his  strength  grew  so  grew  his  love  for  her. 

Oft  would  they  sit  together  in  her  garden  amid  the 
flowers,  and  she,  busied  with  her  broidering  needle,  would 
question  him  of  his  doings,  and  betimes  her  breast  would 
heave  and  her  dexterous  hand  tremble  and  falter  to  hear 
of  dangers  past ;  or,  talking  of  the  future,  her  gracious 
head  would  droop  with  cheeks  that  flushed  most  maidenly, 
until  Beltane,  kneeling  to  her  loveliness,  would  clasp  her 
in  his  arms,  while  she,  soft-voiced,  would  bid  him  beware 
her  needle. 

To  him  all  tender  sweetness,  yet  to  all  others  within  the 
manor  was  she  the  Duchess,  proud  and  stately;  moreover, 
when  she  met  the  lady  Winfrida  in  hall  or  bower,  her 
slender  brows  would  wrinkle  faintly  and  her  voice  sound 
cold  and  distant,  whereat  the  fair  Winfrida  would  bow 
her  meek  head,  and  sighing,  wring  her  shapely  fingers. 

Now  it  befell  upon  a  drowsy  afternoon,  that,  waking 
from  slumber  within  the  garden,  Beltane  found  himself 
alone.  So  he  arose  and  walked  amid  the  flowers  thinking 
of  many  things,  but  of  the  Duchess  Helen  most  of  all.  As 
he  wandered  slowly  thus,  his  head  bent  and  eyes  a-dream, 
he  came  unto  a  certain  shady  arbour  where  fragrant  herb 
and  climbing  blooms  wrought  a  tender  twilight  apt  to 
blissful  musing.  Now  standing  within  this  perfumed 
shade  he  heard  of  a  sudden  a  light  step  behind  him,  and 
turning  swift  about,  his  eager  arms  closed  upon  a  soft 


The  Wiles  of  Winfrida         179 

and  yielding  form,  and  behold  —  it  was  Winfrida !  Then 
Beltane  would  have  loosed  his  clasp,  but  her  white  hands 
reached  up  and  clung  upon  his  broad  shoulders,  yet  when 
she  spake  her  voice  was  low  and  humble. 

"  My  lord  Beltane,"  she  sighed,  "  happy  art  thou  to 
have  won  the  love  of  our  noble  lady  —  aye,  happy  art 
thou !  But  as  for  me,  alas !  messire,  meseemeth  her  heart 
is  turned  'gainst  me  these  days ;  I,  who  was  her  loved  com- 
panion and  childish  play-fellow !  So  now  am  I  very  deso- 
late, wherefore  I  pray  you  speak  with  her  on  my  behalf 
and  win  her  to  forgiveness.  Ah,  messire,  when  thou  shalt 
be  Duke  indeed,  think  kindly  on  the  poor  Winfrida,  for  as 
I  most  truly  love  the  Duchess  — "  here  needs  must  she  sigh 
amain  and  turn  aside  her  shapely  head,  and  thereafter 
spake,  clear  and  loud :  "  so  will  I  love  thee  also !  "  Then, 
while  he  yet  stood  abashed  by  the  touch  of  her  and  the 
look  in  her  eyes,  she  caught  his  hand  to  her  lips  and  fled 
away  out  of  the  arbour. 

But  now  as  he  stood  staring  after  her  beyond  all  thought 
amazed,  a  white  hand  parted  the  leafy  screen  and  the 
Duchess  stood  before  him.  And  behold !  her  slender  brows 
were  wrinkled  faintly,  and  when  she  spake  her  voice  was 
cold  and  distant. 

"  Saw  you  the  lady  Winfrida,  my  lord?  " 

"  Why  truly,"  stammered  Beltane,  "  truly  I  —  she  was 
here  but  now  — " 

"Here,  my  lord?     Alone?" 

"  She  besought  me  speak  thee  for  her  forgiveness ;  to 
remind  thee  of  her  love  aforetime,  to  — " 

"  Would'st  plead  for  her,  in  sooth  ?  " 

"I  would  but  have  thee  do  her  justice,  Helen — " 

"  Think  you  I  am  so  unjust,  my  lord?  " 

"  Not  so  indeed.     But  she  is  so  young  —  so  fair  — " 

"  Aye,  she  is  very  fair,  my  lord  —  there  be  —  others 
think  the  same." 

"  Helen?  "  said  he,  "  O  Helen!  " 

"  And  thou  dost  plead  for  her  —  and  to  me,  my  lord ! 
And  with  her  kisses  yet  burning  thee ! " 


i8o  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  She  did  but  kiss  my  hand  — " 

"  Thy  hand,  my  lord !     O  aye,  thy  hand  forsooth !  " 

"  Aye,  my  hand,  lady,  and  therewith  named  me 
'  Duke  ' !  "  quoth  Beltane,  beginning  to  frown.  Whereat 
needs  must  the  Duchess  laugh,  very  soft  and  sweet  yet 
with  eyes  aglow  beneath  her  lashes. 

"'Duke,'  messire.''  She  names  thee  so  betimes,  me- 
seemeth.  Thou  art  not  Duke  yet,  nor  can'st  thou  ever 
be  but  of  my  favour !  " 

"  And  the  time  flieth  apace,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  and  I 
have  mighty  things  to  do.  O,  methinks  I  have  tarried 
here  overlong ! " 

"Ah  —  and  would'st  be  going,  messire?  " 

"  'Tis  so  methinks  my  duty." 

*' Go  you  alone,  messire  —  or  goeth  she  with  thee?" 

"Ah,  God!  How  dare  ye  so  think?  "  cried  Beltane,  in 
anger  so  fierce  and  sudden  that  though  she  fronted  him 
yet  smiling,  she  drew  back  a  pace.  Whereat  his  anger 
fell  from  him  and  he  reached  out  his  hands. 

"  Helen!  "  said  he,  "  O  my  Helen,  what  madness  is  this? 
Thou  art  she  I  love  —  doth  not  thine  heart  tell  thee  so  ?  " 
and  fain  would  he  have  caught  her  to  him. 

"  Ah  —  touch  me  not !  "  she  cried,  and  steel  flickered  in 
her  hand. 

"  This  —  to  me  ?  "  quoth  he,  and  laughed  short  and 
bitter,  and  catching  her  wrist,  shook  the  dagger  from  her 
grasp  and  set  his  foot  upon  it. 

"  And  hath  it  come  to  this  — 'twixt  thee  and  me  ?  "  he 
sighed. 

"  O,"  she  panted,  "  I  have  loved  thee  nor  shamed  to 
show  thee  my  love.  Yet  because  my  love  is  so  great,  so, 
methinks,  an  need  be  I  might  hate  thee  more  than  any 
man ! "  Then,  quick-breathing,  flushed  and  trembling, 
she  turned  and  sped  away,  leaving  Beltane  heavy-hearted, 
and  with  the  dagger  gleaming  beneath  his  foot. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

OF  THE  HUMILITY  OF  HELEN  THE  PROUD 

Beltane,  leaning  forth  of  his  lattice,  stared  upon  the 
moon  with  doleful  eyes,  heavy  with  sense  of  wrong  and 
big  with  self-pity. 

"  I  have  dreamed  a  wondrous  fair  dream,"  said  he  within 
himself,  "  but  all  dreams  must  end,  so  is  my  dream  van- 
ished quite  and  I  awake,  and  being  awake,  now  will  I  arise 
and  go  upon  my  duty !  "  Then  turned  he  to  his  bed  that 
stood  beside  the  window  and  forthwith  began  to  arm  him- 
self; but  with  every  lace  he  drew,  with  every  strap  he 
buckled,  he  sighed  amain  and  his  self-pity  waxed  the 
mightier.  He  bethought  him  of  his  father's  sayings  anent 
the  love  of  women,  and  in  his  mind  condemned  them  all 
as  fickle  and  light-minded.  And  in  a  while,  being  armed 
from  head  to  foot,  in  glistening  coif  and  hauberk  and  with 
sword  girt  about  his  middle,  he  came  back  to  the  lattice 
and  leaned  him  there  to  stare  again  upon  the  moon,  to 
wait  until  the  manor  should  be  wrapped  in  sleep  and  to 
grieve  for  himself  with  every  breath  he  drew. 

Being  thus  so  profoundly  occupied  and,  moreover,  his 
head  being  thrust  without  the  window,  he  heard  nought  of 
the  tap  upon  his  chamber  door  nor  of  the  whispered  sound 
of  his  name.  Thus  he  started  to  feel  a  touch  upon  his 
arm,  and  turning,  beheld  the  Duchess. 

She  >vore  a  simple  robe  that  fell  about  her  body's  round 
loveliness  in  sweetly  revealing  folds ;  her  hair,  all  un- 
braided,  was  caught  up  'neath  a  jewelled  fillet  in  careless 
fashion,  but  —  O  surely,  surely,  never  had  she  looked  so 
fair,  so  sweet  and  tender,  so  soft  and  desirable  as  now,  the 
tear-drops  yet  agleam  upon  her  drooping  lashes  and  her 
bosom  yet  heaving  with  recent  grief. 


1 82  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  And  —  thou  art  armed,  my  lord  ?  " 

"  I  ride  for  Thrasfordham-within-Bourne  this  night,  my 
lady." 

"  But  I  am  come  to  thee  —  humbly  —  craving  thy  for- 
giveness, Beltane." 

"  Nought  have  I  to  forgive  thee,  lady  —  save  that  thou 
art  woman !  " 

*'  Thou  would'st  not  have  me  —  a  man,  messire?  " 

*'  'Twould  be  less  hard  to  leave  thee." 

"  Thou  art  —  leaving  me  then,  Beltane?  " 

*'  Yea,  indeed,  my  lady.  The  woes  of  Pentavalon  call 
to  me  with  a  thousand  tongues :  I  must  away  —  pray  God 
I  have  not  tarried  too  longl " 

"  But  art  yet  weak  of  thy  wound,  Beltane.  I  pray  thee 
tarry  —  a  little  longer.  Ah,  my  lord,  let  not  two  lives  go 
empty  because  of  the  arts  of  a  false  friend,  for  well  do  I 
know  that  Winfrida,  seeing  me  coming  to  thee  in  the  gar- 
den, kissed  thee  of  set  purpose,  that,  beholding,  I  might 
grieve." 

"  Is  this  indeed  so,  my  lady.^*  " 

*'  She  did  confess  it  but  now." 

*'  Said  she  so  indeed.''  " 

"  Aye,  my  lord,  after  I  had  —  pulled  her  hair  —  a  lit- 
tle. But  O,  my  Beltane,  even  when  I  thought  thee  base, 
I  loved  thee!  Ah,  go  not  from  me,  stay  but  until  to- 
morrow, and  then  shalt  thou  wed  me  for  thine  own !  Leave 
me  not,  Beltane,  for  indeed  —  I  cannot  live  —  without 
thee ! " 

So  saying,  she  sank  down  upon  his  couch,  hiding  her 
face  in  the  pillow. 

Now  came  Beltane  and  leaned  above  her. 

**  Helen !  "  he  whispered ;  and  falling  upon  his  knees,  he 
set  his  arms  about  her.  Then  lifted  she  her  tearful  face 
and  looked  upon  him  in  the  moonlight ;  and  lying  thus,  of 
a  sudden  reached  out  white  arms  to  him:  and  in  her  eyes 
was  love,  and  on  her  quivering  lips  and  in  all  the  yearning 
beauty  of  her,  love  called  to  him. 

Close,  close  he  caught  her  in  his  embrace,  kissing  her 


of  the  Humility  of  Helen      183 

hard  and  fierce,  and  her  long  hair  came  down  to  veil  them 
in  its  glory.  Then,  trembling,  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms 
and  bore  her  forth  of  his  chamber  out  into  the  hall  beyond, 
where  lights  flickered  against  arras-hung  wall.  There, 
falling  upon  his  knees  before  her,  he  hid  his  face  within 
the  folds  of  her  habit. 

"  0  Helen !  "  he  groaned,  "  thou  art  —  so  beautiful  — 
so  beautiful  that  I  grow  afraid  of  thee!  Wed  me  this 
night  or  in  mercy  let  me  begone !  " 

And  now  did  the  Duchess  look  down  upon  him  with  eyes 
of  wonder  changing  to  a  great  and  tender  joy,  and  stoop- 
ing, put  back  his  mail  coif  with  reverent  hand  and  laid 
her  cheek  upon  that  bowed  and  golden  head. 

"  Beltane,"  she  whispered,  "  O  Beltane  of  mine,  now  do 
I  know  thee  indeed  for  a  true  man  and  noble  knight ! 
Such  love  as  thine  honoureth  us  both,  so  beloved,  this 
night  —  within  the  hour,  shalt  thou  wed  with  me,  and  I 
joy  to  hear  thee  call  me  —  Wife!  " 

Therewith  she  turned  and  left  him  there  upon  his  knees. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

OF  WHAT  BEFELL  AT  BLAEN 

Late  though  the  hour,  full  soon  the  manor  was  astir; 
lights  glimmered  in  the  great  hall  where  were  gathered  all 
the  household  ©f  the  Duchess,  her  ladies,  her  tire-women, 
the  porters  and  serving  men,  even  to  the  scullions  —  all 
were  there,  staring  in  wonderment  upon  the  Duchess,  who 
stood  before  them  upon  the  dais  in  a  rich  habit  of  blue 
and  silver  and  with  her  golden  fillet  on  her  brow. 

"  Good  friends,"  said  she,  looking  round  upon  them 
happy-eyed,  "  hither  have  I  summoned  ye,  for  that  this 
night,  here  before  you  all,  'tis  my  intent  to  wed  this  noble 
knight  Beltane,  son  of  Beltane  Duke  of  Pentavalon  afore- 
time, who  shall  henceforth  be  lord  of  me  and  of  Mortain." 

Now  did  Winfrida  the  Fair  start  and  therewith  clench 
pink  palms  and  look  quick-eyed  upon  my  Beltane,  noting 
in  turn  his  golden  hair,  his  belt  of  silver  and  the  great 
sword  he  bore:  arid,  biting  her  red  lip,  she  stooped  her 
beauteous  head,  frowning  as  one  in  sudden  perplexity. 

"  So  now,"  spake  on  the  Duchess,  "  let  us  to  the  chapel 
where  good  Father  Angelo  shall  give  us  heaven's  blessing 
upon  this  our  union." 

"  Lady,"  said  Godric,  "  Friar  Angelo  was  summoned  to 
the  village  this  night,  nor  is  he  come  again  yet." 

"  Then  go  fetch  him,"  sighed  the  Duchess,  "  and  O, 
Godric,  hasten ! " 

Thereafter  turned  she  to  the  assemblage,  gentle-eyed. 

"  Friends,"  said  she,  "  since  I  am  greatly  happy  this 
night,  so  would  I  have  ye  happy  likewise.  Therefore  I 
decree  that  such  as  are  serfs  among  ye  shall  go  free  hence- 
forth, and  to  such  as  are  free  will  I  give  grants  of  land 


of  What  Befell  at  Blaen        1 8  5 

that  ye  may  come  to  bless  this  night  and  remember  it 
ever." 

But  now,  even  as  they  fell  on  their  knees,  'mid  cries  of 
gratitude  and  joyful  acclaim,  she,  smiling  and  gracious, 
passed  out  of  the  hall :  yet,  as  she  went,  beckoned  the  lady 
Winfrida  to  follow. 

Being  come  into  her  chamber,  all  three,  the  Duchess 
sank  down  beside  the  open  lattice  and  looked  out  upon  the 
garden  all  bathed  in  the  tender  radiance  of  the  moon. 
Anon  she  sighed  and  spake: 

"  My  lady  Winfrida,  on  this  my  wedding  night  a  new 
life  dawns  for  Mortain  and  for  me,  wherein  old  harms 
shall  be  forgiven  and  forgot,  so  come  —  kiss  me,  Win- 
frida." 

Then  swiftly  came  the  beauteous  Winfrida  to  kneel  at 
her  lady's  feet,  to  clasp  her  lady's  slender  hand,  to  kiss 
it  oft  and  bathe  it  in  her  tears. 

*'  O  sweet  my  lady,  am  I  indeed  forgiven  ?  " 

"  Aye,  most  truly." 

*'  Am  I  again  thy  loved  companion  and  thy  friend?  " 

"  So  shall  it  be,  Winfrida." 

"  Then,  O  dear  Helen,  as  sign  all  is  forgot  and  we  lovers 
again,  let  us  pledge  each  other,  here  and  now  —  to  thy 
future  happiness  and  glory." 

"  Aye,  be  it  so,"  sighed  the  Duchess,  "  bring  wine,  for 
I  am  athirst." 

Then  turned  she  to  the  lattice  again  and  Winfrida 
went  lightly  on  her  errand.  Now,  yet  gazing  upon  the 
moon,  the  Duchess  reached  out  and  drew  Beltane  beside 
her. 

"  Dear  my  love,"  she  whispered,  "  in  but  a  little  hour 
I  shall  be  thine:  art  happy  in  the  thought?  Nay,"  she 
sighed,  white  hands  against  his  mailed  breast,  "  beloved, 
wait  —  kiss  me  not  again  until  the  hour  be  passed.  Lean 
here  thy  golden  head  and  look  with  me  upon  the  splendour 
of  the  night.  See  the  pale  moon,  how  placid  and  serene, 
how  fair  and  stately  she  doth  ride  — " 

"  So  may  thy  life  be  in  coming  years !  "  said  Beltane. 


1 86  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  And  wilt  love  me  ever,  Beltane,  no  matter  what  be- 
tide?" 

"  Ever  and  always,  so  long  as  thou  art  Helen.  Nay, 
why  dost  tremble?  " 

"  O  my  lord  —  see  yonder  —  that  cloud,  how  black  — 
see  how  it  doth  furtive  creep  upon  the  gentle  moon  — " 

"  'Tis  a  long  way  hence,  my  Helen !  " 

"  Yet  will  it  come.  Ah,  think  you  'tis  a  portent  ?  O 
would  the  gentle  Angelo  were  here  —  and  yet,  an  he  were 
come  —  methinks  I  might  wish  him  hence  —  for  that,  lov- 
ing thee  so,  yet  am  I  a  maid,  -and  foolish  —  ah,  who  is 
here  —  not  Angelo  so  soon?  What,  'tis  thou,  Winfrida? 
Welcome  —  bring  hither  the  goblet." 

So  came  Winfrida,  and  falling  on  her  knee  gave  the 
goblet  into  her  lady's  hand,  who,  rising,  turned  to  Beltane 
looking  on  him  soft-eyed  across  the  brimming  chalice. 

"  Lord  and  husband,"  she  breathed  — "  now  do  I  drink 
to  thy  glory  in  arms,  to  our  future,  and  to  our  abiding 
love !  "  So  the  Duchess  raised  the  goblet  to  her  lips.  But 
lo!  even  as  she  drank,  the  thick,  black  cloud  began  to 
engulf  the  moon,  quenching  her  radiant  light  in  its  murky 
gloom.  So  the  Duchess  drank,  and  handed  the  goblet  to 
Beltane. 

"  To  thee,  my  Helen,  whom  only  shall  I  love  until  death 
and  beyond !  " 

Then  Beltane  drank  also,  and  gave  the  cup  to  Win- 
frida: but,  even  as  he  did  so,  the  Duchess  uttered  a  cry 
and  pointed  with  hand  a-tremble: 

"  O  Beltane,  the  moon  —  the  moon  that  was  so  bright 
and  glorious  — 'tis  gone,  the  cloud  hath  blotted  it  out ! 
Ah,  Beltane,  what  doth  this  portend?  Why  do  I  tremble 
thus  because  the  moon  is  gone  ?  " 

"  Nay,  my  beloved,"  quoth  Beltane,  kissing  those  slen- 
der fingers  that  trembled  upon  his  lip  and  were  so  cold  — 
so  deadly  cold,  "  dear  Helen,  it  will  shine  forth  again 
bright  and  radiant  as  ever." 

"  Yet  why  is  my  heart  so  cold.  Beltane,  and  wherefore 
do  I  tremble  ?  " 


of  What  Befell  at  Blaen        1 8  7 

*'  The  night  grows  chill,  mayhap." 

"  Nay,  this  cold  is  from  within.  O,  I  would  the  moon 
would  shine !  " 

"  Nay,  let  us  speak  of  our  future,  my  Helen  — " 

"The  future?"  she  sighed,  "what  doth  it  hold? 
Strife  and  bitter  war  for  thee  and  a  weary  waiting  for 
me,  and  should'st  thou  be  slain  —  Ah,  Beltane,  forgive 
these  fears  and  vain  imaginings.  Indeed,  'tis  most  unlike 
me  to  fear  and  tremble  thus.  I  was  ever  accounted  brave 
until  now  —  is't  love,  think  you,  doth  make  me  coward? 
'Tis  not  death  I  fear  —  save  for  thy  dear  sake.  Death? 
Nay,  what  have  we  to  do  with  such,  thou  and  I  —  this  is 
our  wedding  night,  and  yet  —  I  feel  as  if  this  night  —  I 
were  leading  thee  —  to  thy  —  death  — .  O,  am  I  mad, 
forsooth?  Hold  me  close,  beloved,  comfort  me,  Beltane, 
I  —  I  am  afraid."  Then  Beltane  lifted  her  in  his  arms 
and  brought  her  to  the  hearth,  and,  setting  her  in  the  fire- 
glow,  kneeled  there,  seeking  to  comfort  her. 

And  now  he  saw  her  very  pale,  sighing  deep  and  oft  and 
with  eyes  dilated  and  heavy. 

"  Beltane,"  said  she  slowly,  "  I  grow  a-weary,  'tis  — 
the  fire,  methinks."  And  smiling  faintly  she  closed  her 
eyes,  yet  sighed  and  gazed  upon  him  as  one  new  waked. 
"  Did  I  sleep  ?  "  she  questioned  drowsily,  "  Beltane,"  she 
sighed,  speaking  low  and  thick  — "  I  charge  thee,  what- 
soe'er the  future  doth  bring  —  yet  love  me  alway  —  or  I, 
methinks  —  shall  —  die !  " 

Awhile  she  lay  against  him  breathing  deep  and  slow, 
then  started  of  a  sudden,  looking  upon  him  vague-eyed. 

"Beltane,"  she  murmured,  "art  there,  beloved?  'Tis 
dark,  and  my  eyes  —  heavy.  Methinks  I  —  must  sleep 
awhile.  Take  me  —  to  my  women.  I  must  sleep  —  yet 
will  I  come  to  thee  soon  —  soon,  beloved."  So  Beltane 
brought  her  to  the  door,  but  as  he  came  thither  the 
broidered  curtain  was  lifted  and  he  beheld  Winfrida,  who 
ran  to  her  mistress,  kissing  her  oft  and  sighing  over  her. 

"  Winfrida,"  sighed  the  Duchess,  slumberous  of  voice, 
*'  I  grow  a-weary  —  I  must  sleep  awhile  — " 


1 88  Beltane  the  Smith 

*'  Aye,  thou'rt  overwrought,  dear  lady.  Come,  rest  you 
until  the  holy  Angelo  be  come,  so  shalt  be  thine  own  sweet 
self  anon." 

And  when  the  Duchess  was  gone,  Beltane  sat  and  stared 
upon  the  fire  and  felt  himself  vaguely  troubled,  yet  even  so, 
as  he  watched  the  leaping  flame,  his  head  nodded  and  he 
slept,  yet  sleeping,  dreamed  he  heard  the  Duchess  calling 
him,  and  opening  his  eyes,  found  the  fair  Winfrida  beside 
him: 

"  My  lord  Beltane,'*  said  she  softly,  "  thy  Duchess  bid- 
deth  thee  wait  her  in  the  chapel  —  follow  me,  messire !  " 
Now  being  yet  heavy  with  sleep,  Beltane  arose  and  fol- 
lowed her  through  an  opening  in  the  arras  near  by,  and 
down  a  narrow  stair,  stumbling  often  as  he  went  and  walk- 
ing as  one  in  a  dream.  So  by  devious  ways  Winfrida 
brought  him  into  a  little  chapel,  where,  upon  the  altar, 
was  a  crucifix  with  candles  dim-burning  in  the  gloom. 

"  Wait  here,  my  lord,"  said  Winfrida,  "  so  will  I  go 
prepare  my  lady.  Friar  Angelo  doth  stay  to  do  his  holy 
office."  So  speaking,  Winfrida  turned  and  was  gone» 
Then  Beltane  came  unto  the  altar  and,  kneeling  there, 
leaned  his  heavy  head  upon  the  fair  white  altar  cloth,  and 
kneeling  thus,  fell  asleep. —  The  altar  beneath  him 
seemed  of  a  sudden  riven  and  split  asunder  and,  while  he 
gazed,  behold  the  fair  white  altar  cloth  grew  fouled  and 
stained  with  blood  —  new  blood,  that  splashed  down  red 
upon  the  white  even  as  he  watched.  Then  did  Beltane  seek 
to  rise  up  from  his  knees,  but  a  heavy  weight  bore  him 
ever  down,  and  hands  huge  and  hairy  gripped  him  fierce 
and  strong.  But  beholding  these  merciless  hands,  a  sud- 
den mighty  rage  came  upon  Beltane,  and  struggling  up, 
he  stood  upon  his  feet  and  drew  sword ;  but  the  fierce  hands 
had  crept  up  to  his  naked  throat,  cutting  off  his  breath, 
the  sword  was  dashed  from  his  loosening  grasp,  the  weight 
about  him  grew  too  much  for  his  strength,  it  bore  him 
down  and  down  into  a  pitchy  gloom  where  all  was  very 
still.  A  wind,  sweet  and  cool,  breathed  upon  his  cheek, 
grass  was  below  and  trees  above  him,  shadowy  trees  be- 


Of  What  Befell  at  Blaen        1 89 

yond  which  a  pallid  moon  rose  high,  very  placid  and 
serene.  Now  as  Beltane  stared  heavenward  the  moon  was 
blotted  out,  a  huge  and  hairy  face  looked  down  in  his,  and 
hairy  hands  lifted  him  with  mighty  strength.  Then  Bel- 
tane thought  to  see  the  Duchess  Helen  standing  by  in  her 
gown  of  blue  and  silver  — 

"  Helen !  "  he  whispered. 

But  she  paid  no  heed,  busied  in  fastening  about  her  the 
nun's  long  cloak  that  veiled  her  down  from  head  to  foot- 
So  the  mighty  arms  that  held  Beltane  bore  him  to  a  horse 
near  by  and  across  this  horse  he  was  flung ;  thereafter  the 
monster  mounted  also,  and  they  moved  off  amid  the  trees. 
Thus  was  Beltane  borne  from  Blaen  upon  his  wedding- 
night  —  dazed,  bleeding  and  helpless  in  his  bonds.  Yet 
even  so,  ever  as  they  went  he  watched  her  who  rode  near 
by,  now  in  moonlight,  now  in  shadow,  so  youthful  and 
shapely,  but  with  hood  drawn  low  as  she  had  worn  it  when 
he  bore  her  through  the  forest  in  his  arms. 

And  ever  as  they  went  he  watched  the  pale  gleam  of  her 
hand  upon  the  bridle,  or  her  little  foot  in  its  embroidered 
shoe,  or  the  fold  of  her  blue  gown  with  its  silver  needle- 
work. And  ever  the  trouble  in  his  dazed  brain  grew  the 
deeper;  once,  as  they  crossed  a  broad  glade  she  rode  up 
close  beside  him,  and  beneath  her  hood  he  saw  a  strand  of 
her  glorious  hair,  bright  under  the  moon. 

Then  did  he  writhe  and  struggle  in  his  bonds. 

"  Helen !  "  he  cried,  "  O  Helen !  "  .  .  . 

But  a  great  hand,  coarse  and  hairy,  came  upon  his 
mouth,  stopping  the  cry  and  choking  him  to  silence. 

So  they  bore  my  Beltane  southwards  through  the  misty 
woods,  on  and  ever  on,  till  with  the  dawn  they  were  come 
to  a  castle  great  and  very  strong,  where  battlement  and 
tower  frowned  upon  the  paling  stars. 

But  with  the  dawn,  'mid  the  gloom  of  the  little  chapel 
of  Blaen,  came  one  who  stood,  haggard  and  pallid  as  the 
dawn,  to  stare  wild-eyed  upon  a  great  sword  and  upon  a 
torn  and  blood-stained  altar-cloth;  and  so  gazing,  she 
shrank  away  back  and  back,  crouching  down  amid  the 


IQO  Beltane  the  Smith 

gloom.  When  at  last  the  sun  arose,  it  glittered  on  a  long 
broad  blade,  across  which,  upon  the  rough  pavement,  lay 
one  very  silent  and  very  still,  amid  the  tumbled  glory  of 
her  hair. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

HOW    BELTANE    BECAME    CAPTIVE    TO    SIR    PEETOLEPE 

A  HORN,  lustily  winded,  waked  my  Beltane  from  his  swoon, 
waked  him  to  a  glimmering  world  vague  and  unreal,  where 
lights  flared  and  voices  sounded,  hoarse  and  faint,  in  ques- 
tion and  answer.  Thereafter,  down  rattled  drawbridge 
and  up  creaked  portcullis,  and  so,  riding  'neath  a  deep  and 
gloomy  arch  they  came  out  into  a  courtyard,  where  were 
many  vague  forms  that  flitted  to  and  fro  —  and  many 
more  lights  that  glinted  on  steel  bascinet  and  hauberk  of 
mail. 

Now  as  Beltane  lay  helpless  in  his  bonds  he  felt  a  hand 
among  his  hair,  a  strong  hand  that  lifted  his  heavy,  droop- 
ing head  and  turned  up  his  face  to  the  glare  of  the 
torches. 

"  How  now,  Fool !  "  cried  a  gruff  voice,  "  here's  not  thy 
meat  —  ha,  what  would  ye  —  what  would  ye.  Fool?  " 

"  Look  upon  another  fool,  for  fool,  forsooth,  is  he  me- 
thinks  that  cometh  so  into  Garthlaxton  Keep."  Now 
hereupon,  opening  unwilling  eyes.  Beltane  looked  up  into 
the  face  of  Beda  the  Jester  that  bent  above  him  with  a 
ring  of  steel-begirt  faces  beyond. 

"  Aha!  "  quoth  the  jester,  clapping  Beltane's  pale  and 
bloody  cheek,  "  here  is  a  fool  indeed  —  forsooth,  a  very 
foolish  fool,  hither  come  through  folly,  for  being  great  of 
body  and  small  of  wit,  look  you,  his  folly  hath  hither 
brought  him  in  shape  of  a  hairy,  ape-like  fool  — " 

"Ape!"  growled  a  voice,  and  the  jester  Avas  seized  in 
a  hairy  hand  and  shaken  till  his  bells  jingled;  and  now 
Beltane  beheld  his  captor,  a  dwarf-like,  gnarled  and 
crooked  creature,  yet  huge  of  head  and  with  the  mighty 
arms  and  shoulders  of  a  giant;  a  fierce,  hairy  monster, 


192  Beltane  the  Smith 

whose  hideousness  was  set  off  by  the  richness  of  his  ves- 
ture. "  Ape,  quotha !  "  he  growled.  "  Dare  ye  name  Ulf 
the  Strong  ape,  forsooth?  Ha!  so  will  I  shake  the  flesh 
from  thy  bones !  "  But  now,  she  who  sat  her  horse  near  by 
so  proud  and  stately,  reached  forth  a  white  hand,  touching 
Ulf  the  Strong  upon  the  arm,  and  lo !  in  that  moment,  he 
loosed  the  breathless  jester  and  spake  with  bowed  head: 
"  Dear  my  lady,  I  forgot !  "  Then  turning  to  the  grin- 
ning soldiery  he  scowled  upon  them.  "  Dogs,"  quoth  he, 
*'  go  to  your  master  and  say  Helen,  Duchess  of  Mortain 
bringeth  a  wedding  gift  to  Ivo,  called  the  Black.  Behold 
here  he  that  slew  twenty  within  the  green,  that  burned 
down  Black  Ivo's  goodly  gallows,  that  broke  the  dungeons 
of  Belsaye  and  bore  Red  Pertolepe  into  the  green,  behold 
him  ye  seek  —  Beltane,  son  of  Beltane  the  Strong,  here- 
tofore Duke  of  Pentavalon !  " 

Now  hereupon  arose  a  mighty  turmoil  and  excitement, 
all  men  striving  to  behold  Beltane,  to  touch  him  and  look 
upon  his  drooping  face,  but  Ulf's  mighty  hand  held  them 
back,  one  and  all.  And  presently  came  hasting  divers 
esquires  and  knights,  who,  beholding  Beltane,  his  costly 
mail,  his  silver  belt  and  golden  hair,  seized  upon  him  right 
joyfully  and  bore  him  into  an  inner  ward,  and  threw  him 
down  upon  the  floor,  marvelling  and  rejoicing  over  him, 
while  Beltane  lay  there  fast  bound  and  helpless,  staring 
up  with  frowning  brow  as  one  that  strives  to  think,  yet 
cannot.  Now  suddenly  the  noise  about  him  ceased,  all 
voices  were  hushed,  and  he  was  aware  of  one  who  stood 
near  by,  a  doleful  figure  swathed  In  bandages,  who  leaned 
upon  the  arm  of  a  tall  esquire.  And  looking  upon  this 
figure,  he  saw  it  was  Sir  Pertolepe  the  Red. 

"  Ha,  by  the  eyes  of  God ! "  quoth  Sir  Pertolepe,  "  'tis 
he  himself  —  O  sweet  sight  —  see,  I  grow  better  already ! 
Who  brought  him,  say  you?  " 

"  Lord,  'twas  the  Duchess  Helen !  "  said  one. 

"  Helen !  "  cried  Sir  Pertolepe,  "  Helen  of  Mortain?  " 

"  Aye,  lord,  as  her  wedding  gift  to  our  lord  Duke  Ivo." 
Now  hereupon   Beltane's    staring  eyes   closed,   the   great 


How  Beltane  Became  Captive      193 

muscles  of  his  body  twitched  and  writhed  and  stood  out 
gnarled  and  rigid  awhile,  then  he  sighed,  a  slow,  hissing 
breath,  and  lay  there  staring  up  wide-eyed  at  the  vaulted 
roof  again. 

"  Came  she  herself,  Raoul?  " 

"  Aye,  good  my  lord." 

"  Whj^,  then  —  admit  her.  God's  love,  messires,  would 
ye  keep  the  glorious  Helen  without  ?  " 

"  Lord,  she  is  gone  —  she  and  her  ape-man  both." 

"Gone?  Gone,  forsooth .'^  'Tis  strange,  and  yet  'tis 
like  the  wilful  Helen.  Yet  hath  she  left  her  wedding  gift 
in  my  keeping.  O  a  rare  gift,  a  worthy  gift  and  most 
acceptable.  Strip  me  off  his  armour  —  yet  no,  as  he 
came,  so  shall  he  bide  until  my  lord  Duke  be  come.  Bring 
now  shackles,  strong  and  heavy,  bring  fetters  and  rivets, 
so  will  I  sit  here  and  see  him  trussed." 

And  presently  came  two  armourers  with  hammers  and 
rivets,  and  shackled  Beltane  with  heavy  chains,  the*  while 
Sir  Pertolepe,  sitting  near,  laughed  and  spake  him  right 
jovially. 

But  Beltane  suffered  it  all,  uttering  no  word  and  staring 
ever  straight  before  him  with  wide,  vague  eyes,  knitting  his 
brow  ever  and  anon  in  troubled  amaze  like  a  child  that  suf- 
fers unjustly;  wherefore  Sir  Pertolepe,  fondling  his  big 
chin,  frowned. 

"  Ha !  "  quoth  he,  "  let  our  Duke  that  hath  no  duchy  be 
lodged  secure  —  to  the  dungeons,  a^'e,  he  shall  sleep  with 
rats  until  my  lord  Duke  Ivo  come  to  see  him  die  —  yet 
stay!  The  dungeons  be  apt  to  sap  a  man's  strength  and 
spirit,  and  to  a  weak  man  death  cometh  over  soon  and 
easy.  Let  him  lie  soft,  feed  full  and  sleep  sound  —  let 
him  have  air  and  light,  so  shall  he  wax  fat  and  lusty 
against  my  lord  Duke's  coming.      See  to  it,  Tristan !  " 

So  they  led  Beltane  away  jangling  in  his  fetters,  across 
divers  courtyards  and  up  a  narrow,  winding  stair  and 
thrust  him  within  a  chamber  where  was  a  bed  and  above 
it  a  loop-hole  that  looked  out  across  a  stretch  of  rolling, 
wooded  country.     Now  being  come  to   the  bed.  Beltane 


194  Beltane  the  Smith 


sank  down  thereon,  and  setting  elbow  to  knee,  rested  his 
heavy  head  upon  his  hand  as  one  that  fain  would  think. 

*'  Helen ! "  he  whispered,  and  so  whispering,  his  strong 
fingers  writhed  and  clenched  themselves  within  his  yellow 
hair.  And  thus  sat  he  all  that  day,  bowed  forward  upon 
his  hand,  his  fingers  tight-clenched  within  his  hair,  staring 
ever  at  the  square  flagstone  beneath  his  foot,  heedless  alike 
of  the  coming  and  going  of  his  gaoler  or  of  the  food  set 
out  upon  the  bench  hard  by.  Day  grew  to  evening  and 
evening  to  night,  yet  still  he  sat  there,  mighty  shoulders 
bowed  forward,  iron  fingers  clenched  within  his  hair,  like 
one  that  is  dead ;  in  so  much  that  his  gaoler,  setting  down 
food  beside  the  other  untasted  dishes,  looked  upon  him  in 
amaze  and  touched  him. 

"  Oho !  "  said  he,  *'  wake  up.  Here  be  food,  look  ye, 
and,  by  Saint  Crispin,  rich  and  dainty.  And  drink  —  good 
wine,  wake  and  eat !  " 

Then  Beltane's  clutching  fingers  relaxed  and  he  raised 
his  head,  blinking  in  the  rays  of  the  lanthom ;  and  looking 
upon  his  rumpled  hair,  the  gaoler  stared  and  peered  more 
close. 

Quoth  he: 

"  Methought  thou  wert  a  golden  man,  yet  art  silver 
also,  meseemeth." 

"  Fellow,"  said  Beltane  harsh-voiced  and  slow,  "  Troy 
town  was  burned,  and  here  was  great  pity,  methinks,  for 
'twas  a  fair  city.  Yet  to  weep  o'er  it  these  days  were  a 
fond  madness.     Come,  let  us  eat !  " 

But  as  Beltane  uprose  in  his  jangling  fetters,  the  gaoler, 
beholding  his  face,  backed  to  the  door,  and  slamming  it 
shut,  barred  and  fast  bolted  it,  yet  cast  full  many  a  glance 
behind  as  he  hasted  down  the  winding  stair. 

Then  Beltane  ate  and  drank,  and  thereafter  threw  him- 
self upon  his  narrow  couch,  but  his  fetters  jangled  often 
in  the  dark.  Thus  as  he  lay,  staring  upwards  into  the 
gloom,  he  was  aware  of  the  opening  of  the  iron-clamped 
door,  and  beheld  his  gaoler  bearing  a  lanthom  and  behind 
him  Sir  Pertolepe  leaning  on  the  arm.  of  his  favourite 


How  Beltane  Became  Captive      195 

esquire,  who,  coming  near,  looked  upon  Beltane  nodding 
right  jovially. 

"  Messire  Beltane,"  quoth  he,  "  thou  did'st  dare  set  up 
thyself  against  Ivo  our  lord  the  Duke  —  O  fool  ?  'Tis 
said  thou  hast  sworn  to  drive  him  forth  of  Pentavalon  — 
O  mad  fool !  'Tis  said  thou  did'st  woo  the  Duchess  Helen, 
seeking  her  to  wife,  O  fool  of  fools !  Did'st  think,  pre- 
sumptuous rogue,  that  she  —  the  glorious  Helen  —  that 
Helen  the  Beautiful,  whom  all  men  desire,  would  stoop  to 
thee,  an  outcast  —  wolf's  head  and  outlaw  that  thou  art? 
Did'st  dare  think  so,  forsooth?  To-morrow,  belike,  my 
lord  Duke  shall  come,  and  mayhap  shall  bring  the  Duchess 
Helen  in  his  train  —  to  look  upon  the  manner  of  thy  dy- 
ing-» 

Now  hereupon  up  started  Beltane  that  his  fetters 
clashed,  and  laughed  so  sudden,  so  fierce  and  harsh,  that 
Raoul  the  esquire  clapped  hand  to  dagger  and  even  Red 
Pertolepe  started. 

"  Sweet  lord,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  noble  messire  Pertolepe, 
of  thy  boundless  mercy  —  of  thy  tender  ruth  grant  unto 
me  this  boon.  When  ye  shall  have  done  me  to  death  — 
cut  off  this  head  of  mine  and  send  it  to  Helen  —  to  Helen 
the  beautiful,  the  wilful  —  in  memory  of  what  befell  at 
Blaen." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

OF  THE  HORRORS  OF  GARTHLAXTON  KEEP,  AND  HOW  A 
DEVIL.  ENTERED  INTO  BELTANE 

Six  days  came  and  went,  and  during  all  this  time  Beltane 
spake  word  to  no  man.  Every  evening  came  Sir  Per- 
tolepe  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Raoul  the  esquire,  to  view  his 
prisoner  with  greedy  eyes  and  ply  him  with  jovial  talk 
whiles  Beltane  would  lie  frowning  up  at  the  mighty  roof- 
beams,  or  sit,  elbows  on  knee,  his  fingers  clenched  upon  that 
lock  of  hair  that  gleamed  so  strangely  white  amid  the 
yellow. 

Now  upon  the  seventh  evening  as  he  sat  thus,  came  Sir 
Pertolepe  according  to  his  wont,  but  to-night  he  leaned 
upon  the  shoulder  of  Beda  the  Jester,  whose  motley  flared 
'gainst  rugged  wall  and  dingy  flagstone  and  whose  bells 
rang  loud  and  m^erry  by  contrast  with  the  gloom. 

Quoth  Sir  Pertolepe,  seated  upon  the  bench  and  smiling 
upon  Beltane's  grim  figure: 

"  He  groweth  fat  to  the  killing,  seest  thou,  my  Beda,  a 
young  man  and  hearty,  very  hale  and  strong —  and  there- 
fore meet  for  death.  So  strong  a  man  should  be  long 
time  a-dying  —  an  death  be  coaxed  and  managed  well. 
And  Tristan  is  more  cunning  and  hath  more  love  for  his 
craft  than  ever  had  Black  Roger.  With  care,  Beda  — 
I  say  with  care,  messire  Beltane  should  die  from  dawn  to 
sundown." 

"  Alack  !  "  sighed  the  jester,  "  death  shall  take  him  over 
soon,  as  thou  dost  say  —  and  there's  the  pity  on't !  " 

"Soon,  Fool  —  soon.'*  Now  out  upon  thee  for  a  fool 
ingrain  — " 

"  Forsooth,  sweet  lord,  fool  am  I  —  mark  these  bells ! 
Yet  thou  art  a  greater !  " 


Horrors  of  Garthlaxton  Keep      197 

*'  How,  sirrah?  " 

''  In  that  thou  art  a  greater  man,  fair,  sweet  lord ; 
greater  in  might,  greater  in  body,  and  greater  in  folly." 

"  Ha,  would'st  mock  me,  knave?  " 

"  For  perceive  me,  fair  and  gentle  lord,  as  this  base 
body  of  ours  being  altogether  thing  material  is  also  thing 
corruptible,  so  is  it  also  a  thing  finite,  and  as  it  is  a  thing 
finite  so  are  its  sensations,  be  they  of  pleasure  or  pain, 
finite  also  —  therefore  soon  must  end.  Now  upon  the 
other  hand  — " 

"  How  now  ?     What  babbling  folly  is  here  ?  " 

"  As  I  say,  most  potent  lord,  upon  the  other  hand  —  as 
the  mind,  being  altogether  thing  transcendental,  is  also 
thing  incorruptible,  so  is  it  also  a  thing  infinite,  and  being 
a  thing  infinite  so  are  its  sensations  infinite  also  —  there- 
fore everlasting." 

"  Ha,  there's  reason  in  thy  folly,  methinks.  What 
more?  " 

"  Bethink  thee,  lord,  there  be  divers  rogues  who,  hav- 
ing provoked  thy  potent  anger,  do  lie  even  now  awaiting 
thy  lordly  pleasure.  E'en  now  irons  be  heating  for  them, 
moreover  they  are,  by  thy  will,  to  suffer  the  grievous  tor- 
ment of  the  pulleys  and  the  wheel,  and  these,  as  I  do  know, 
be  sharp  punishments  and  apt  to  cause  prodigious  outcry. 
Now,  to  hear  one  cry  out  beneath  the  torture  is  an  evil 
thing  for  youthful  ears  —  and  one  not  soon  forgot." 

"  Aye,  aye,  forsooth,  I  begin  to  see  thy  meaning,  good 
Fool  —  yet  say  on." 

"  Let  this  thy  prisoner  be  set  within  the  cell  above  the 
torture  chamber,  so,  lying  within  the  dark  he  must  needs 
hear  them  cry  below,  and  in  his  mind  shall  he  suffer  as  they 
suffer,  every  pang  of  racking  wheel  and  searing  iron. 
And,  because  the  mind  is  thing  infinite  — " 

"  Enough  —  enough !  O  most  excellent  Beda,  'tis  well 
bethought.     O,  rare  Fool,  so  shall  it  be." 

Forthwith  Sir  Pertolepe  summoned  certain  of  his  guard, 
and,  incontinent.  Beltane  was  dragged  a-down  the  winding 
stair  and  thereafter  fast  shut  within  a  place  of  gloom,  a 


198 


Beltane  the  Smith 


narrow  cell  breathing  an  air  close  and  heavy,  and  void  of 
all  light.  Therefore  Beltane  sat  him  down  on  the  floor, 
his  back  to  the  wall,  staring  upon  the  dark,  chin  on  fist. 
Long  he  sat  thus,  stirring  not,  and  in  his  heart  a  black 
void,  deeper  and  more  awful  than  the  fetid  gloom  of  any 
dungeon  —  a  void  wherein  a  new  Beltane  came  into  being. 

Now  presently,  as  he  sat  thus,  upon  the  silence  stole  a 
sound,  low  and  murmurous,  that  rose  and  fell  yet  never 
quite  died  away.  And  Beltane,  knowing  what  sound  this 
was,  clenched  his  hands  and  bowed  his  face  upon  his  knees. 
As  he  listened,  this  drone  grew  to  a  sudden  squealing  cry 
that  rang  and  echoed  from  wall  to  wall,  whiles  Beltane, 
crouched  in  that  place  of  horror,  felt  the  sweat  start  out 
upon  him,  yet  shivered  as  with  deadly  cold,  and  ever  the 
cries  thrilled  within  the  dark  or  sank  to  whimpering  moans 
and  stifled  supplications.  And  ever  Beltane  hearkened  to 
these  fell  sounds,  staring  blindly  into  the  gloom,  and  ever 
the  new  Beltane  grew  the  stronger  within  him. 

Hour  after  hour  he  crouched  thus,  so  very  silent,  so 
very  quiet,  so  very  still,  but  long  after  the  groans  and 
wailings  had  died  to  silence,  Beltane  stared  grim-eyed  into 
the  gloom  and  gnawed  upon  his  fingers.  Of  a  sudden  he 
espied  a  glowing  spark  in  the  angle  of  the  wall  to  the 
right  —  very  small,  yet  very  bright. 

Now  as  he  watched,  behold  the  spark  changed  to  a  line 
of  golden  light,  so  that  his  eyes  ached  and  he  was  fain  to 
shade  them  in  his  shackled  arm ;  and  thus  he  beheld  a  flag- 
stone that  seemed  to  lift  itself  with  infinite  caution,  and, 
thereafter,  a  voice  breathed  his  name. 

"  Messire  —  messire  Beltane !  "  And  now  through  the 
hole  in  the  floor  behold  a  hand  bearing  a  lanthorn  —  an 
arm  —  a  shoulder  —  a  shrouded  head ;  thus  slowly  a  tall, 
cloaked  figure  rose  up  through  the  floor,  and,  setting  down 
the  lanthorn,  leaned  toward  Beltane,  putting  back  the 
hood  of  his  mantle,  and  Beltane  beheld  Beda  the  Jester. 

"Art  awake,  messire  Beltane.?" 

"  Aye !  "  quoth  Beltane,  lifting  his  head.  "  And  I  have 
used  mine  ears!     The  wheel  and  the  pulley  are  rare  be- 


Horrors  of  Garthlaxton  Keep      199 

getters  of  groans,  as  thou  did'st  foretell,  Fool!  'Twas  a 
good  thought  to  drag  me  hither  —  it  needed  but  this. 
Now  am  I  steel,  without  and  —  within.  O,  'tis  a  foul 
world!" 

"  Nay,  messire  — 'tis  a  fair  world  wherein  be  foul 
things :  they  call  them  '  men.'  As  to  me,  I  am  but  a  fool 
—  mark  this  motley  —  yet  hither  I  caused  thee  to  be 
dragged  that  I  might  save  those  limbs  o'  thine  from  wheel 
and  pulley,  from  flame  and  gibbet,  and  set  thee  free  within 
a  world  which  I  do  hold  a  fair  world.  Yet  first  —  those 
fetters  —  behold  hammer  and  chisel !  Oswin,  thy  gaoler, 
sleepeth  as  sweet  as  a  babe,  and  wherefore.''  For  that  I 
decocted  Lethe  in  his  cup.  Likewise  the  guard  below. 
My  father,  that  lived  here  before  me  (and  died  of  a  jest 
out  of  season),  was  skilled  in  herbs  —  and  I  am  his  son! 
My  father  (that  bled  out  his  life  'neath  my  lord's  supper 
table)  knew  divers  secret  ways  within  the  thickness  of 
these  walls  —  so  do  I  know  more  of  Pertolepe's  castle  than 
doth  Pertolepe  himself.  Come,  reach  hither  thy  shackles 
and  I  will  cut  them  off,  a  chisel  is  swifter  than  a  file  — " 

"  And  why  would'st  give  me  life.  Fool?  " 

**  For  that  'tis  a  useful  thing,  messire,  and  perchance 
as  sweet  to  thee  this  night  within  thy  dungeon  as  to  me 
upon  a  certain  day  within  the  green  that  you  may  wot 
of?  "  So  speaking,  Beda  the  Jester  cut  asunder  the  chain 
that  bound  the  fetters,  and  Beltane  arose  and  stretched 
himself  and  the  manacles  gleamed  on  each  wide-sundered 
wrist. 

Quoth  he: 

"What  now?" 

Whereat  the  jester,  sitting  cross-legged  upon  the  floor, 
looked  up  at  him  and  spake  on  this  wise : 

"  Two  days  agone  as  I  walked  me  in  the  green,  dream- 
ing such  foolish  dreams  as  a  fool  may,  there  came,  very 
suddenly,  a  sorry  wight  —  a  wild  man,  very  ragged  — ■ 
who  set  me  his  ragged  arm  about  my  neck  and  a  sharp 
dagger  to  my  throat;  and  thus,  looking  him  within  the 
eyes,  I  knew  him  for  that  same  Roger  from  whose  hand 


200  Beltane  the  Smith 

thou  did'st  save  me  aforetime.  '  Beda,'  says  he,  '  I  am  he 
that  hanged  and  tortured  men  at  my  lord's  bidding:  I  am 
Roger,  and  my  sins  be  many.'  '  Then  prithee,'  says  I, 
^  prithee,  Roger,  add  not  another  to  thy  sins  by  cutting 
the  throat  of  a  fooL'  '  Needs  must  I,'  says  he,  dolorous 
of  voice,  '  unless  thou  dost  answer  me  two  questions.' 
'  Nay,  I  will  answer  thee  two  hundred  an  thou  leave  my 
throat  unslit,'  says  I.  '  But  two,'  says  Roger,  sighing. 
'  First,  doth  Pertolepe  hold  him  I  seek?  '  *  Him?  '  says  I. 
'Him  they  call  Beltane?'  says  Roger,  *  doth  he  lie  pris- 
oned within  Garthlaxton?  '  'He  doth,'  quoth  I.  Now 
for  thine  other  question.  '  'Tis  this,'  says  Roger,  '  Wilt 
aid  us  to  win  him  free?  '  *  Why  look  ye,  Roger,'  says  I, 
'  'Tis  only  a  fool  that  seeketh  aid  of  a  fool  —  and  fool  am 
I.'  '  Aye,'  says  Roger,  '  but  thou  art  a  live  fool ;  promise, 
therefore,  or  wilt  be  naught  but  a  dead  fool.'  '  Roger,' 
says  I,  '  thou  did'st  once  try  to  slay  me  in  the  green  ere 
now.'  '  Aye,'  says  Roger, '  and  my  lord  Beltane  saved  thy 
carcass  and  my  soul.'  '  Aye,'  quoth  I,  '  and  e'en  a  fool  can 
repay.  So  was  I  but  now  dreaming  here  within  this  bos- 
kage how  I  might  perchance  win  this  same  Beltane  to  life 
without  thy  scurvy  aid.  Black  Roger.  Moreover,  me- 
thinks  I  know  a  way  —  and  thou  spare  me  life  to  do  it.' 
'  Aye,  forsooth,'  says  Roger,  putting  away  his  dagger, 
'  thou  wert  ever  a  fool  of  thy  word,  Beda  —  so  now  do  I 
spare  thy  life,  and  sparing  it,  I  save  it,  and  thus  do  I  cut 
another  accursed  notch  from  my  belt.'  '  Why,  then,' 
says  I,  '  to-morrow  night  be  at  the  riven  oak  by  Brankton 
Thicket  an  hour  before  dawn.'  '  So  be  it,  Beda,'  says  he, 
and  so  I  left  him  cutting  at  his  belt.  And  lo,  am  I  here, 
and  within  an  hour  it  should  be  dawn.  Follow,  messire !  " 
So  saying,  Beda  rose,  and  taking  the  lanthom,  began  to 
descend  through  the  floor,  having  first  shown  how  the  flag- 
stone must  be  lowered  in  place.  Thereafter,  Beltane  fol- 
lowed the  jester  down  a  narrow  stair  built  in  the  thickness 
of  the  wall,  and  along  a  passage  that  ended  abruptly,  nor 
could  Beltane  see  any  sign  of  door  in  the  solid  masonry 
that  barred  their  way.     Here  Beda  paused,  finger  on  lip, 


Horrors  of  Garthlaxton  Keep      201 

and  extinguished  the  lanthorn.  Then,  in  the  dark  a  hinge 
creaked  faintly,  a  quivering  hand  seized  Beltane's  manacled 
wrist,  drawing  him  on  and  through  a  narrow  opening 
that  yawned  suddenly  before  them.  Thereafter  the  hinge 
creaked  again  and  they  stood  side  by  side  within  a  small 
chamber  where  was  a  doorway  hung  across  with  heavy 
curtains  beyond  which  a  light  burned.  Now  even  as  Bel- 
tane looked  thitherward,  he  heard  the  rattle  of  dice  and  a 
sleepy  voice  that  cursed  drowsily,  and  shaking  off  the 
clutching,  desperate  fingers  that  strove  to  stay  him,  he 
came,  soft-treading,  and  peered  through  the  curtains. 
Thus  he  beheld  two  men  that  faced  each  other  across  a 
table  whereon  was  wine,  with  dice  and  store  of  money,  and 
as  they  played,  these  men  yawned,  leaning  heavily  upon 
the  table.  Back  swept  the  curtains  and  striding  into  the 
room  Beltane  stared  upon  these  men,  who,  j^et  leaning 
upon  the  table,  stared  back  at  him  open-mouthed.  But, 
beholding  the  look  in  his  blue  eyes  and  the  smile  that 
curled  his  mouth,  they  stumbled  to  their  feet  and  sought 
to  draw  weapon  —  then  Beltane  sprang  and  caught  them 
each  about  the  neck,  and,  swinging  them  wide-armed,  smote 
their  heads  together ;  and  together  these  men  sank  in  his 
grasp  and  lay  in  a  twisted  huddle  across  the  table  among 
the  spilled  wine.  A  coin  rang  upon  the  stone  floor,  rolled 
into  a  distant  corner  and  came  to  rest,  the  jester  gasped 
in  the  shadow  of  the  curtains ;  and  so  came  silence,  broke 
only  by  the  soft  drip,  drip  of  the  spilled  wine. 

"  O,  mercy  of  God!"  whispered  the  jester  hoarsely  at 
last,  "  what  need  was  there  for  this  —  they  would  have 
slept  — " 

"  Aye,"  smiled  Beltane,  "  but  not  so  soundly  as  now, 
methinks.     Come,  let  us  go." 

Silently  the  jester  went  on  before,  by  narrow  passage- 
ways that  writhed  and  twisted  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls, 
up  sudden  flights  of  steps  until  at  length  they  came  out 
upon  a  parapet  whose  grim  battlements  scowled  high  in 
air.  But  as  they  hasted  on,  flitting  soft-footed  'neath 
pallid  moon,  the  jester  of  a  sudden  stopped,  and  turning, 


2  02  Beltane  the  Smith 

dragged  Beltane  into  the  shadows,  for  upon  the  silence 
came  the  sound  of  mailed  feet  pacing  near.  Now  once 
again  Beltane  brake  from  the  jester's  clutching  fingers 
and  striding  forward,  came  face  to  face  with  one  that  bare 
a  pike  on  mailed  shoulder,  and  who,  beholding  Beltane, 
halted  to  peer  at  him  with  head  out-thrust ;  quoth  he : 

"  Ha !  stand !  Stand,  I  say  and  speak  me  who  thou 
art?" 

Then  Beltane  laughed  softly ;  said  he : 

"  O  fool,  not  to  know  —  I  am  death ! "  and  with  the 
word,  he  leapt.  Came  a  cry,  muffled  in  a  mighty  hand,  a 
grappling,  fierce  yet  silent,  and  Beda,  cowering  back,  be- 
held Beltane  swing  a  writhing  body  high  in  air  and  hurl  it 
far  out  over  the  battlements.  Thereafter,  above  the  soft 
rustle  of  the  night-wind,  a  sound  far  below  —  a  faint 
splash,  and  Beda  the  Jester,  shivering  in  the  soft-stirring 
night  wind,  shrank  deeper  into  the  gloom  and  made  a  swift 
motion  as  though,  for  all  his  folly,  he  had  crossed  him- 
self. 

Then  came  Beltane,  the  smile  still  twisting  his  mouth ; 
quoth  he: 

"  Forsooth,  my  strength  is  come  back  again ;  be  there 
§yiy  more  that  I  may  deal  withal,  good  Fool?  " 

"Lord,"  whispered  the  shivering  jester,  "  methinks  I 
smell  the  dawn  —  Come !  " 

So  Beltane  followed  him  from  the  battlements,  down 
winding  stairs,  through  halls  that  whispered  in  the  dark; 
down  more  stairs,  down  and  ever  down  'twixt  walls  slimy 
to  the  touch,  through  a  gloom  heavy  with  mildew  and  de- 
cay. On  sped  the  jester,  staying  not  to  light  the  lanthom, 
nor  once  touching,  nor  once  turning  with  helping  hand  to 
guide  Beltane  stumbling  after  in  the  dark.  Then  at  last, 
deep  in  the  clammy  earth  they  reached  a  door,  a  small 
door  whose  rusted  iron  was  banded  with  mighty  clamps  of 
rusted  iron.  Here  the  jester  paused  to  fit  key  to  lock,  to 
strain  and  pant  awhile  ere  bolts  shrieked  and  turned,  and 
the  door  yawned  open.  Then,  stooping,  he  struck  flint 
and  steel  and  in  a  while  had  lit  the  lanthom,  and,  looking 


Horrors  of  Garthlaxton  Keep      203 

upon  Beltane  with  eyes  that  stared  in  the  pallor  of  his 
face,  he  pointed  toward  the  yawning  tunnel. 

"  Messire,"  said  he,  "  yonder  lieth  thy  way  to  life  and 
the  world.  As  thou  did'st  give  me  life  so  do  I  give  thee 
thine.  Thou  wert,  as  I  remember  thee,  a  very  gentle,  ten- 
der youth  —  to-night  are  three  dead  without  reason  — " 

"  Reason,  good  Fool,"  said  Beltane,  "  thou  did'st  see 
me  borne  in  a  prisoner  to  Garthlaxton;  now,  tell  me  I 
pray,  who  was  she  that  rode  with  us  ?  " 

"  'Twas  the  Duchess  Helen  of  Mortain,  messire ;  I  saw 
her  hair,  moreover — " 

But  lo,  even  as  the  jester  spake,  Beltane  turned,  and 
striding  down  the  tunnel,  was  swallowed  in  the  dark. 


V 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

HOW    BELTANE    TOOK    TO    THE    WILD-WOOD 

A  FAINT  glimmer  growing  ever  brighter,  a  jagged  patch  of 
pale  sky,  a  cleft  in  the  rock  o'er-grown  with  bush  and 
creeping  vines ;  this  Beltane  saw  ere  he  stepped  out  into 
the  cool,  sweet  air  of  dawn.  A  while  he  stood  to  stare  up 
at  the  sky  where  yet  a  few  stars  showed  paling  to  the  day, 
and  to  drink  in  mighty  breaths  of  the  fragrant  air.  And 
thus,  plain  to  his  ears,  stole  the  ripple  of  running  water 
hard  by,  and  going  thitherward  he  stripped,  and  naked 
came  down  to  the  stream  where  was  a  misty  pool  and 
plunged  him  therein.  Now  as  he  bathed  him  thus,  gasp- 
ing somewhat  because  of  the  cold,  yet  glorying  in  the  rush 
and  tingle  of  his  blood,  behold,  the  leaves  parted  near  by, 
and  uprising  in  his  naked  might.  Beltane  beheld  the  face 
of  one  that  watched  him  intently. 

"Master!"  cried  a  voice  harsh  but  very  joyful,  "O 
dear,  my  lord !  "  And  Roger  sprang  down  the  bank  and 
heedless  of  the  water,  plunged  in  to  catch  Beltane's  hands 
and  kiss  them.  "  Master !  "  he  cried.  And  thus  it  was 
these  two  met  again.  And  presently,  having  donned 
clothes  and  harness.  Beltane  sat  down  him  beside  the  brook, 
head  upon  hand,  staring  at  the  swift-running  water,  whiles 
Roger,  sitting  near,  watched  him  in  a  silent  ecstasy. 

"  Whence  come  ye,  Roger  .f*  " 

"  From  Thrasfordham-within-Bourne,  lord.  Ho,  a 
mighty  place,  great  and  strong  as  Sir  Benedict  himself. 
And  within  Thrasfordham  be  many  lusty  fighting  men  who 
wait  thy  coming, —  for,  master,  Bourne,  aye  and  all  the 
Duchy,  doth  ring  with  tales  of  thy  deeds." 

"  Hath  Sir  Benedict  many  men.''  " 


Beltane  Takes  to  the  Wild-wood     205 

"  Aye  —  within  Thrasf ordham  iSve  hundred  and  more." 

"So  few,  Roger?" 

"  And  mayhap  as  many  again  in  Bourne.  But,  for 
Sir  Benedict  —  a  right  lusty  knight  in  sooth,  master !  and 
he  doth  hunger  for  sight  of  thee.  He  hath  had  me,  with 
VValkyn  and  the  archer,  speak  full  oft  of  how  we  fired  the 
gibbet  and  roars  mighty  laughs  to  hear  how  thou  didst  bear 
off  Sir  Pertolepe  in  the  green  —  aye,  Sir  Benedict  doth 
love  to  hear  tell  of  that." 

"  Aye ;  and  what  of  Duke  Ivo  —  where  is  he  now, 
Roger?" 

"  He  hath  reinforced  Belsaye  garrison  and  all  the  coast 
towns  and  castles  of  the  Marches,  and  Heth  at  Pentavalon, 
gathering  his  powers  to  attack  Thrasfordham,  so  men  say, 
and  hath  sworn  to  burn  it  within  the  year,  and  all  therein 
save  only  Sir  Benedict  —  him  will  he  hang;  'tis  so  pro- 
claimed far  and  wide." 

"  And  do  men  yet  come  in  to  Sir  Benedict?  " 

"  Not  so,  master.  Since  Duke  Ivo  came  they  are 
afraid." 

"  Ha !  And  what  of  the  outlaws  —  there  be  many  wild 
men  within  the  forests." 

"  The  outlaws  —  hey,  that  doth  mind  me.  I,  with  Giles 
and  Walkyn  and  the  young  knight  Sir  Jocelyn  brought 
down  the  outlaws  upon  Thornaby  Mill.  But  when  we 
found  thee  not,  we  burned  it,  and  thereafter  the  outlaws 
vanished  all  within  the  wild-wood;  Sir  Jocelyn  rode  away 
a-singing  mighty  doleful,  and  we  three  came  to  Thrasford- 
ham according  to  thy  word.  But  when  ye  came  not,  mas- 
ter, by  will  of  Sir  Benedict  we  set  out,  all  three,  to  find 
thee,  and  came  to  a  cave  of  refuge  Walkyn  wots  of:  there 
do  we  sleep  by  night  and  by  day  search  for  thee.  And 
behold,  I  have  found  thee,  and  so  is  my  tale  ended.  But 
now,  in  an  hour  will  be  day,  master,  and  with  the  day  will 
be  the  hue  and  cry  after  thee.  Come,  let  us  haste  over  into 
Bourne,  there  shall  we  be  safe  so  long  as  Thrasfordham 
stands." 

"  True,"  nodded  Beltane  and  rose  to  his  feet.     "  Go  you 


2o6  Beltane  the  Smith 

to  Thrasfordham,  Roger,  Sir  Benedict  shall  need  such 
lusty  men  as  thou,  meseemeth." 

"  Aye  —  but  what  of  thee,  master?  " 

"  I  ?  O,  I'm  for  the  wild-wood,  to  a  wild  life  and  wilder 
doings,  being  myself  a  wild  man,  henceforth,  lawful  food 
for  flame  or  gibbet,  kin  to  every  clapper-claw  rogue  and 
rascal  'twixt  here  and  Mortain." 

*'  Nay  master,  within  Thrasfordham  ye  shall  laugh  at 
Black  Ivo  and  all  his  powers  —  let  us  then  to  Thrasford- 
ham, beseech  thee !  " 

"  Nay,  I'm  for  the  woods  in  faith,  to  seek  me  desperate 
rogues,  wild  men  whose  lives  being  forfeit,  are  void  of 
all  hope  and  fear.  So,  get  thee  to  Sir  Benedict  and  speak 
him  this  from  me,  to  wit:  that  while  he  holdeth  Ivo  in 
check  before  Thrasfordham,  I  will  arise  indeed  and  bring 
with  me  flame  and  steel  from  out  the  wild-wood.  When 
he  shall  see  the  night  sky  aflame,  then  shall  he  know  I  am 
at  work,  and  when  by  day  he  heareth  of  death  sudden  and 
swift,  then  shall  he  know  I  am  not  idle.  Bid  him  rede  me 
this  riddle:  That  bringing  from  chaos  order,  so  from 
order  will  I  bring  chaos,  that  order  peradventure  shall  re- 
main. Haste  you  into  Bourne,  Roger,  and  so  —  fare  thee 
well !  » 

Now  as  he  spake,  Beltane  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode 
along  beside  the  brook,  but  even  as  he  went,  so  went  Roger, 
whereon  Beltane  turned  frowning. 

Quoth  he: 

"  Roger  —  Thrasfordham   lieth   behind  thee !  " 

"  Aye,  master,  but  death  lieth  before  thee !  " 

*'  Why  then,  death  will  I  face  alone,  Roger." 

"  Nay,  master  —  not  while  Roger  live.  Thy  man  am 
I—" 

"Ha  —  wilt  withstand  me,  Black  Roger?" 

"  Thy  man  am  I,  to  follow  thee  in  life  and  go  down  with 
thee  in  death  — " 

Now  hereupon  Beltane  came  close,  and  in  the  dim  light 
Black  Roger  beheld  the  new  Beltane  glaring  down  at  him 
fierce-eyed  and  with  great  mailed  fist  clenched  to  smite; 


Beltane  Takes  to  the  Wild-wood     207 

but  even  so  Black  Roger  gave  not  back,  only  he  drew  dag- 
ger and  strove  to  set  it  in  Beltane's  iron  fingers. 

"  Take  this,"  quoth  he,  "  for,  an  ye  would  be  free  of 
Roger,  first  must  ye  slay  him,  master."  So  Beltane  took 
the  dagger  and  fumbled  with  it  awhile  then  gave  it  back 
to  Roger's  hand. 

"Roger!"  muttered  he,  his  hand  upon  his  brow,  "my 
faithful  Roger!  So,  men  can  be  faithful — "  saying 
which  he  sighed  —  a  long,  hissing  breath,  and  hid  his  face 
within  his  mittened  hand,  and  turning,  strode  swiftly  upon 
his  way.  Now  in  a  while,  they  being  come  into  the  forest, 
Roger  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"  Master,"  said  he,  "  whither  do  ye  go  ?  " 

"  Nay,  it  mattereth  not  so  long  as  I  can  lie  hid  a  while, 
for  I  must  sleep,  Roger." 

"  Then  can  I  bring  thee  to  a  place  where  none  shall 
ever  find  thee  —  Come,  master ! "  So  saying,  Roger 
turned  aside  into  the  denser  wood,  bursting  a  way  through 
a  tangle  of  brush,  plunging  ever  deeper  into  the  wild  until 
they  came  to  a  place  where  great  rocks  and  boulders  jutted 
up  amid  the  green  and  the  trees  grew  scant.  Day  was 
breaking,  and  before  them  in  the  pale  light  rose  a  steep 
cliff,  whose  jagged  outline  clothed  here  and  there  with 
brush  and  vines  loomed  up  before  them,  barring  their  ad- 
vance. 

But  at  the  foot  of  this  cliff  grew  a  tree,  gnarled 
and  stunted,  the  which,  as  Beltane  watched.  Black  Roger 
began  to  climb,  until,  being  some  ten  feet  from  the  ground, 
he,  reaching  out  and  seizing  a  thick  vine  that  grew  upon 
the  rock,  stepped  from  the  tree  and  vanished  into  the  face 
of  the  cliff.  But  in  a  moment  the  leaves  were  parted  and 
Roger  looked  forth,  beckoning  Beltane  to  follow.  So, 
having  climbed  the  tree.  Beltane  in  turn  seized  hold  upon 
the  vine,  and  stumbling  amid  the  leaves,  found  himself  on 
his  knees  within  a  small  cave,  where  Roger's  hand  met  his. 
Thereafter  Roger  led  him  to  the  end  of  the  cavern  where 
was  a  winding  passage  very  rough  and  narrow,  that 
brought  them  to  a   second  and  larger  cave,  as  Beltane 


2o8  Beltane  the  Smith 

judged,  for  in  the  dark  his  hands  could  feel  nought  but 
space.  Here  Roger  halted  and  whistled  three  times,  a 
melodious  call  that  woke  many  a  slumbering  echo.  And 
in  a  while,  behold  a  glow  that  grew  ever  brighter,  until, 
of  a  sudden,  a  man  appeared  bearing  a  flaming  pine-torch, 
that  showed  a  wide  cave  whose  rugged  roof  and  walls 
glistened  here  and  there,  and  whose  rocky  floor  ended  ab- 
ruptly in  a  yawning  gulf  from  whose  black  depths  came 
soft  murmurs  and  ripplings  of  water  far  below.  Now, 
halting  on  the  opposite  side  of  this  chasm,  the  man  lifted 
his  flaming  torch  and  lo !  it  was  Walkyn,  who,  beholding 
Beltane  in  his  mail,  uttered  a  hoarse  shout  of  welcome,  and 
stooping,  thrust  a  plank  across  the  gulf.  So  Beltane 
crossed  the  plank  and  gave  his  hand  to  Walkyn's  iron  gi'ip 
and  thereafter  followed  him  along  winding,  low-roofed 
passage-ways  hollowed  within  the  rock,  until  they  came 
to  a  cavern  where  a  fire  blazed,  whose  red  light  danced 
upon  battered  bascinets  and  polished  blades  that  hung 
against  the  wall,  while  in  one  corner,  upon  a  bed  of  fern, 
Giles  o'  the  Bow  lay  snoring  right  blissfully. 

To  him  went  Roger  to  shake  him  into  groaning  wakeful- 
ness and  to  point  with  eager  finger  to  Beltane.  Whereat 
up  sprang  Giles  and  came  running  with  hands  out- 
stretched in  welcome,  yet  of  a  sudden,  paused  and  stood 
staring  upon  Beltane,  as  did  the  others  also,  for  the  place 
was  very  bright  and  moreover  Beltane's  mail-coif  was 
fallen  back.  So  they  looked  on  him  all  three,  yet  spake 
no  word.  Therefore  Beltane 'sat  him  down  beside  the  fire 
and  rested  his  head  upon  his  hands  as  one  that  is  weary. 
Sitting  thus,  he  told  them  briefly  what  had  chanced,  but 
of  the  Duchess  he  said  nothing.  And  in  a  while,  lifting 
his  head  he  saw  them  watching  him  all  three,  and  all  three 
incontinent  glanced  otherwhere. 

Quoth  Beltane: 

"  Wherefore  do  ye  stare  upon  me?  " 

"  Why,  as  to  that,  good  brother,"  said  the  archer,  "  'tis 
but  that  —  that  we  do  think  thee  something  —  changed 
of  aspect." 


Beltane  Takes  to  the  Wild-wood     209 

"  Changed !  "  said  Beltane,  and  laughed  short  and  bitter, 
*'  aye,  'tis  like  I  am." 

"  Lord,"  quoth  Walkyn,  clenching  mighty  fists,  "  have 
they  tormented  thee  —  was  it  the  torture,  lord?  " 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  ^twas  the  torture.  So  now- 
good  comrades,  here  will  I  sleep  awhile.  But  first  —  go 
forth  with  the  sun  and  question  all  ye  may  of  Ivo  and  his 
doings  —  where  he  doth  lie,  and  where  his  forces  muster  — 
hear  all  ye  can  and  bring  me  word,  for  methinks  we  shall 
be  busy  again  anon !  "  Then,  throwing  himself  upon  the 
bed  of  fern  that  Roger  had  re-made.  Beltane  presently 
fell  asleep.  And  while  he  slept  came  the  three,  very  silent 
and  treading  very  soft,  to  look  down  upon  his  sleeping 
face  and  the  manacles  that  gleamed  upon  his  wrists ;  and 
behold,  even  as  he  slept,  he  groaned  and  writhed,  his  ten- 
der lips  grown  fierce,  a  relentless,  down-curving  line  — 
his  jaws  grim  set,  and  between  his  frowning  brows  a  lock 
of  silky  hair  that  gleamed  snow-white  among  the  yellow. 

"  The  torture  1  "  growled  Roger,  and  so,  soft  as  they 
came,  the  three  turned  and  left  him  to  his  slumber.  But 
oft  he  moaned  and  once  he  spake  a  word,  sudden  and  fierce, 
'twixt  clenched  teeth. 

And  the  word  was : 

"Helen!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

OF    THE   PLACE    OF    REFUGE    WITHIN    THE    GREEN 

It  was  toward  evening  that  Beltane  awoke,  and  sitting 
up,  looked  about  him.  He  was  in  a  chamber  roughly 
square,  a  hollow  within  the  rock  part  natural  and  part 
hewn  by  hand,  a  commodious  chamber  lighted  by  a  jagged 
hole  in  the  rock  above,  a  fissure  all  o'er-grown  with  vines 
and  creeping  plants  whose  luxuriant  foliage  tempered  the 
sun's  rays  to  a  tender  green  twilight  very  grateful  and 
pleasant. 

Now  pendant  from  the  opening  was  a  ladder  of  cords, 
and  upon  this  ladder,  just  beneath  the  cleft.  Beltane  be- 
held a  pair  of  lusty,  well-shaped  legs  in  boots  of  untanned 
leather  laced  up  with  leathern  thongs ;  as  for  their  owner, 
he  was  hidden  quite  by  reason  of  the  leafy  screen  as  he 
leaned  forth  of  the  fissure.  Looking  upon  these  legs.  Bel- 
tane knew  them  by  their  very  attitude  for  the  legs  of 
one  who  watched  intently,  but  while  he  looked,  they  stirred, 
shifted,  and  growing  lax,  became  the  legs  of  one  who 
lounged ;  then,  slow  and  lazily,  they  began  to  descend  lower 
and  lower  until  the  brown,  comely  face  of  Giles  Brabble- 
combe  o'  the  Hills  smiled  down  upon  Beltane  with  a  gleam 
of  white  teeth.     Cried  he: 

"  Hail,  noble  brother,  and  likewise  the  good  God  bless 
thee!  Hast  slept  well,  it  lacketh  scarce  an  hour  to  sun- 
down, and  therefore  should'st  eat  well.  How  say  ye  now 
to  a  toothsome  haunch  o'  cold  venison,  in  faith,  cunningly 
cooked  and  sufficiently  salted  and  seasoned  —  ha  ?  And 
mark  me!  with  a  mouthful  of  malmsey,  ripely  rare.''  Oho, 
rich  wine  that  I  filched  from  a  fatuous  friar  jig-jogging 
within  the  green !  Forsooth,  tall  brother,  'tis  a  wondrous 
place,  the  greenwood,  wherein  a  man  shall  come  by  all  he 


of  the  Refuge  Within  the  Green     211 

doth  need  —  an  he  seek  far  enough !  Thus,  an  my  purse 
be  empty,  your  beefy  burgher  shall,  by  dint  of  gentle 
coaxing,  haste  to  fill  me  it  with  good,  broad  pieces.  But, 
an  my  emptiness  be  of  the  belly,  then  sweet  Saint  Giles 
send  me  some  ambulating  abbot  or  pensive-pacing  prior; 
for  your  churchmen  do  ever  ride  with  saddle-bags  well 
lined,  as  I  do  know,  having  been  bred  a  monk,  and  there- 
fore with  a  rare  lust  to  creature  comforts." 

Now  while  he  spake  thus,  the  archer  was  busily  setting 
forth  the  viands  upon  a  rough  table  that  stood  hard  by, 
what  time  Beltane  looked  about  him. 

"  'Tis  a  wondrous  hiding-place,  this,  Giles !  "  quoth  he. 

"  Aye,  verily,  brother  —  a  sweet  place  for  hunted  men 
such  as  we.  Here  be  caves  and  caverns  enow  to  hide  an 
arm}"^,  and  rocky  passage-ways,  narrow  and  winding  i'  the 
dark,  where  we  four  might  hold  all  Black  Ivo's  powers  at 
bay  from  now  till  Gabriel's  trump  —  an  we  had  food 
enow ! " 

Quoth  Beltane : 

"  'Tis  a  fair  thought  that,  and  I've  heard  there  be 
many  outlaws  in  the  woods  hereabouts .''  " 

*'  Yea,  forsooth.  And  each  and  every  a  clapper-claw, 
a  rogue  in  faith.  O  very  lewd,  bloody-minded  knaves  see 
ye  now,  that  would  have  slain  me  three  days  agone  but  for 
my  comrade  Walkyn.  Scurvy  dogs,  fit  for  the  halter  they 
be,  in  faith !  " 

"  Ha !  "  quoth  Beltane,  thoughtful  of  brow.  "  They  be 
wild  men,  meseemeth?  " 

"  Desperate  knaves,  one  and  all ;  and  look  ye,  they  would 
have  slain  — " 

"Aye?"  nodded  Beltane. 

"  All  the  off-scourings  of  town  and  village  —  and  look 
ye,  they  would  — " 

"  Aye,"  said  Beltane. 

"  Thieves,  rogues  and  murderers,  branded  felons,  run- 
away serfs  and  villeins  — " 

"  'Tis  well,"  said  Beltane,  "  so  shall  they  be  my  com- 
rades henceforth." 


2  12  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Thy  comrades !  "  stammered  the  archer,  staring  in 
amaze  — "  thy  comrades !  These  base  knaves  that  would 
have  hanged  me  —  me,  that  am  free-born  like  my  father 
before  me  — " 

"  So,  peradventure,  Giles,  will  we  make  them  free  men 
also.     Howbeit  this  day  I  seek  them  out  — " 

"  Seek  them  — 'tis  death !  " 

"  Death  let  it  be,  'tis  none  so  fearful !  " 

"  They  will  slay  thee  out  of  hand  —  a  wild  rabblement, 
lawless  and  disordered !  " 

"  So  would  I  bring  order  among  them,  Giles.  And  thou 
shalt  aid  me." 

"I  —  aid  thee?  How  —  would'st  have  me  company 
with  such  vile  carrion?  Not  I,  forsooth.  I  am  a  soldier, 
free-bom,  and  no  serf  like  Walkyn  or  villein  like  Roger. 
But  sure  you  do  but  jest,  brother,  so  will  I  laugh  with 
thee  — " 

But  now,  very  suddenly.  Beltane  reached  out  his  long 
arm  and  seizing  Giles  in  mighty  hand,  dragged  him  to  his 
knees ;  and  Giles,  staring  up  in  amaze,  looked  into  the  face 
of  the  new  Beltane  whose  blue  eyes  glared  'neath  frown- 
ing brows  and  whose  lips  curled  back  from  gleaming  teeth. 

"  Giles,"  said  he  softly,  rocking  the  archer  in  his  grasp, 
"  O  Giles  Brabblecombe  o'  the  Hills,  did  I  not  save  thy 
roguish  life  for  thee?  Did  not  Walkyn  and  Roger  pre- 
serve it  to  thee?  So  doth  thy  life  belong  to  Walkyn  and 
to  Roger  and  to  me.  Four  men  are  we  together,  four 
brothers  in  arms,  vowed  to  each  other  in  the  fulfilment  of 
a  purpose  —  is  it  not  so?" 

"  Yea,  verily,  lord.  Good  men  and  true  are  we  all,  but 
see  you  not,  lord,  these  outlaws  be  lewd  fellows  —  base- 
born  — " 

"  See  you  not,  Giles,  these  outlaws  be  men,  even  as  we, 
who,  like  us,  can  laugh  and  weep,  can  bleed  and  die  —  who 
can  use  their  lives  to  purpose  good  or  evil,  even  as  we. 
Therefore,  since  they  are  men,  I  will  make  of  them  our 
comrades  also,  an  it  may  be." 

Thus  saying.  Beltane  loosed  Giles  and  turning  to  the 


of  the  Refuge  Within  the  Green     213 

table,  fell  to  eating  again  while  the  archer  sat  upon  the 
floor  nursing  his  bruised  arm  and  staring  open-mouthed. 

Quoth  Beltane  at  last: 

"  We  will  seek  out  and  talk  with  these  outlaws  to-night, 
Giles ! » 

"  Talk  with  a  pack  of  —  yea,  forsooth !  "  nodded  Giles, 
rubbing  his  arm. 

"  I  am  minded  to  strike  such  a  blow  as  shall  hearten  Sir 
Benedict  for  the  siege  and  shake  Black  Ivo's  confidence." 

"  Aha !  "  cried  Giles,  springing  up  so  that  his  link-mail 
jingled,  "aha!  a  sweet  thought,  tall  brother  I  Could  we 
fire  another  gibbet  now  — " 

"  Know  you  where  the  outlaws  lie  hid,  Giles  ?  " 

"  Nay,  lord,  none  save  themselves  and  Walkyn  know 
that.     Walkyn  methinks,  was  great  among  them  once." 

"  And  where  is  Walkyn?  " 

"  So  soon  as  ye  slept,  lord,  he  and  Roger  went  forth 
according  to  thy  word.  As  for  me,  I  stayed  here  to 
watch.  From  the  spy-hole  yonder  you  may  command  the 
road  a-wind  in  the  valley,  and  unseen,  see  you,  may  see. 
But  come,  an  thy  hunger  be  allayed,  reach  me  thy  hand 
that  I  may  file  off  those  iron  bracelets." 

"  Nay,  let  be,  Giles.  I  will  wear  them  henceforth  until 
my  vow  be  accomplished." 

Hereupon  Beltane  arose,  and,  climbing  the  ladder, 
looked  forth  through  a  screen  of  leaves  and  underbrush 
and  saw  that  from  the  fissure  the  ground  sloped  steeply 
down,  a  boulder-strewn  hill  thick  with  gorse  and  bramble, 
at  whose  base  the  road  led  away  north  and  south  until  it 
was  lost  in  the  green  of  the  forest.  Now  as  Beltane  stood 
thus,  gazing  down  at  the  winding  road  whose  white  dust 
w^as  already  mellowing  to  evening,  he  beheld  one  who  ran 
wondrous  fleetly  despite  the  ragged  cloak  that  flapped 
about  his  long  legs,  and  whose  rough-shod  feet  spurned  the 
dust  beneath  them  so  fast  'twas  a  marvel  to  behold ;  more- 
over as  he  ran,  he  bounded  hither  and  thither,  and  with 
every  bound  an  arrow  sped  by  him  from  where,  some  dis- 
tance behind,  ran  divers  foresters  bedight  in  a  green  livery 


2  14  Beltane  the  Smith 

Beltane  .thought  he  recognized;  but  even  as  Beltane 
grasped  the  branches  that  screened  him,  minded  to  swing 
himself  up  to  the  fellow's  aid,  the  fugitive  turned  aside 
from  the  road  and  came  leaping  up  the  slope,  but,  of  a 
sudden,  uttered  a  loud  cry  and  throwing  up  his  hands  fell 
face  down  upon  the  ling  and  so  lay,  what  time  came  up 
one  of  the  pursuers  that  had  outstripped  his  fellows,  but 
as  he  paused,  his  sword  shortened  for  the  thrust,  up  sprang 
the  fugitive,  a  great  axe  flashed  and  whirled  and  fell,  nor 
need  was  there  for  further  stroke.  Then,  while  the  rest 
of  the  pursuers  were  yet  a  great  way  off,  Walkyn  came 
leaping  up  the  hill.  Back  from  the  ladder  Beltane  leapt 
and  down  through  the  fissure  came  Walkyn  to  fall  cat- 
like upon  his  feet,  to  shake  free  the  ladder  after  him,  and 
thereafter  to  sit  panting  upon  a  stool,  his  bloody  axe  be- 
twixt his  knees. 

"  Pertolepe's  wolves  1 "  he  panted,  "  two  of  them  have 
I  —  slain  —  within  the  last  mile,"  and  grinning,  he  patted 
the  haft  of  his  axe. 

"What  news,  Walkyn?" 

"  Death !  "  panted  Walkyn,  "  there  be  five  dead  men 
a-swing  from  the  bartizan  tower  above  Garthlaxton  Keep, 
and  one  that  dieth  under  the  torture  e'en  now,  for  I  heard 
grievous  outcry,  and  all  by  reason  of  thy  escape,  lord." 

"  Come  you  then  from  Garthlaxton?  "  quoth  Beltane, 
frowning. 

"Aye,  lord.  For,  see  you,  'twas  market  day,  so  went 
I  to  one  I  know  that  is  a  swineherd,  a  trusty  fellow  that 
bringeth  hogs  each  week  unto  Garthlaxton.  So  did  we 
change  habits  and  went  to  Garthlaxton  together,  driving 
the  hogs  before  us.  Thereafter,  while  he  was  away  chaff- 
ering, I  sat  me  down  in  the  outer  bailey  tending  my  beasts, 
yet  with  eyes  and  ears  wide  and  with  my  hand  upon  mine 
axe  'neath  my  cloak  lest  haply  I  might  chance  within 
striking  distance  of  Red  Pertolepe.  And,  sitting  thus,  I 
heard  tell  that  he  had  marched  out  with  all  his  array  to 
join  Black  Ivo's  banner.  Whereupon  was  I  mightily  cast 
down.     But  it  chanced  the  wind  lifted  my  cloak,  and  one 


of  the  Refuge  Within  the  Green     215 

of  the  warders,  spying  mine  axe,  must  think  to  recognise 
me  and  gave  the  hue  and  cry ;  whereat  I,  incontinent,  fled 
ere  they  could  drop  the  portcullis  —  and  divers  rogues 
after  me.  Aha !  then  did  I  lead  them  a  right  merry  dance 
by  moor  and  moss,  by  briar  and  bog,  and  contrived  to 
slay  of  them  five  in  all.  But  as  to  Pertolepe,  a  malison 
on  him !  he  is  not  yet  to  die,  meseemeth.  But,  some  day  — 
aye,  some  day !  "  So  saying  he  kissed  the  great  axe  and 
setting  it  by  came  to  the  table  and  fell  to  eating  mightily 
while  Giles  sat  hard  by  busied  with  certain  arrows,  yet 
betwixt  whiles  watching  Beltane  who,  crossing  to  the  bed 
of  fern,  laid  him  down  thereon  and  closed  his  eyes.  But 
of  a  sudden  he  raised  his  head,  hearkening  to  a  whistle, 
soft  and  melodious,  near  at  hand. 

"  Aha ! "  exclaimed  Giles,  setting  aside  his  arrows, 
*'  yonder  should  be  Roger  —  a  hungry  Roger  and  therefore 
surly,  and  a  surly  Roger  is  rare  sport  to  lighten  a  dull 
hour.  Heaven  send  our  Roger  be  surly !  "  So  saying, 
the  archer  went  forth  and  presently  came  hasting  back 
with  Roger  at  his  heels  scowling  and  in  woeful  plight. 
Torn  and  stained  and  besprent  with  mud,  his  rawhide 
knee-boots  sodden  and  oozing  water,  he  stood  glowering 
at  Giles  beneath  the  bloody  clout  that  swathed  his  head, 
his  brawny  fist  upon  his  dagger. 

"  No  food  left,  say  ye,  Giles,  no  food,  and  I  a-famish- 
ing?  You  and  Walkyn  drunk  up  all  the  wine  betwixt  ye, 
and  I  a-perish  —  ha  —  so  now  will  I  let  it  out  again  — " 
and  out  flashed  his  dagger. 

"  Nay,  'tis  but  the  archer's  folly,"  quoth  Walkyn  — 
*'  sit,  man,  eat,  drink,  and  speak  us  thy  news." 

"  News,"  growled  Roger,  seating  himself  at  table,  "  the 
woods  be  thick  with  Pertolepe's  rogues  seeking  my  master, 
rogues  known  to  me  each  one,  that  ran  to  do  my  bidding 
aforetime  —  in  especial  one  Ralpho  —  that  was  my  assist- 
ant in  the  dungeons  once.  Thrice  did  they  beset  me  close, 
and  once  did  I  escape  by  running,  once  by  standing  up  to 
m}-^  neck  in  a  pool,  and  once  lay  I  hid  in  a  tree  whiles  they, 
below,  ate  and  drank  like  ravening  swine  —  and  I  a-fam- 


2  1 6  Beltane  the  Smith 

ishing.  A  murrain  on  'em,  one  and  all,  say  I  —  in 
especial  Ralpho  that  was  my  comrade  once  —  may  he  rot 
henceforth  — " 

"  Content  you,  Roger,  he  doth  so !  "  laughed  grim  Wal- 
kyn  and  pointed  to  his  axe. 

"  Forsooth,  and  is  it  so?  "  growled  Roger,  his  scowl  re- 
laxing — "  now  will  I  eat  full  and  blithely,  for  Ralpho  was 
an  arrant  knave." 

Now  when  his  hunger  was  somewhat  assuaged,  Roger 
turned  and  looked  where  Beltane  lay. 

"  My  master  sleepeth.'^  "  said  he,  his  voice  grown  gentle. 

"  Nay,  Roger,  I  lie  and  wait  thy  news,"  spake  Beltane, 
his  eyes  yet  closed. 

"  Why  then,  'tis  war,  master  —  battle  and  siege.  The 
country  is  up  as  far  as  Winisfarne.  Black  Ivo  lieth  at 
Barham  Broom  with  a  great  company  —  I  have  seen  their 
tents  and  pavilions  like  a  town,  and  yet  they  come,  for 
Ivo  hath  summoned  all  his  powers  to  march  against  Thras- 
fordham.  'Twixt  here  and  Pentavalon  city,  folk  do  say 
the  roads  be  a-throng  with  bows  and  lances  —  lords  and 
barons,  knights  and  esquires,  their  pennons  flutter  every- 
where." 

"  'Tis  well !  "  sighed  Beltane. 

"  Well,  master  —  nay,  how  mean  you?  " 

"  That  being  at  Barham  Broom,  they  cannot  be  other- 
where, Roger.  Saw  you  Pertolepe's  banner  among  all 
these?" 

"  Aye,  master ;  they  have  set  up  his  pavilion  beside  the 
Duke's." 

"  Tell  me  now,"  said  Beltane,  coming  to  his  elbow,  "  how 
many  men  should  be  left  within  Garthlaxton  for  garrison, 
think  you?  ", 

"  An  hundred,  belike !  "  said  Walkyn. 

"Less,"  quoth  Roger;  "Garthlaxton  is  so  strong  a 
score  of  men  have  held  it  ere  now.  'Tis  accounted  the 
strongest  castle  in  all  the  Duchy,  save  only  Thrasford- 
ham," 

"  Truly  'tis  very  strong !  "  said  Beltane  thoughtfully, 


of  the  Refuge  Within  the  Green     217 

and  lying  down  again  he  closed  his  eyes  and  spake  slow 
and  drowsily  — "  Aye,  'tis  so  strong,  its  garrison,  being 
secure,  should  sleep  sound  o'  nights.  So  'twould  be  no 
great  matter  to  surprise  and  burn  it  ere  the  davv^n,  me- 
thinks !  " 

"  Burn  Garthlaxton !  "  cried  the  archer,  and  sprang  up, 
scattering  the  arrows  right  and  left. 

"  Master  !  "  stammered  Roger,  "  master  — " 

As  for  Walkyn,  he,  having  his  mouth  full  and  striving 
to  speak,  choked  instead. 

"  Lord  —  lord !  "  he  gasped  at  last,  "  to  see  Garthlax- 
ton go  up  in  flame  —  O  blessed  sight !  Its  blood-soaked 
walls  crumble  to  ruin  —  ah,  sweet,  rare  sight!  But  alas! 
'tis  a  mighty  place  and  strong,  and  we  but  four  — " 

"  There  be  outlaws  in  the  wild-wood !  "  quoth  Beltane. 

"  Ha !  —  the  outlaws  !  "  cried  Giles,  and  clapped  hand 
to  thigh. 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  bring  me  to  the  outlaws." 

"  But  bethink  thee,  tall  brother  —  of  what  avail  a 
thousand  such  poor,  ragged,  ill-armed  rogues  'gainst  the 
walls  of  Garthlaxton?  They  shall  not  tear  you  the  stones 
with  their  finger-nails  nor  rend  them  with  their  teeth,  see'st 
thou!" 

"  To  burn  Garthlaxton !  "  growled  Walkyn,  biting  at 
his  fingers.  "  Ha,  to  give  it  to  the  fire !  But  the  walls  be 
mighty  and  strong  and  the  outlaws  scattered.  'Twould 
take  a  week  to  muster  enough  to  attempt  a  storm,  nor 
have  they  engines  for  battery  — " 

"  Enough !  "  said  Beltane  rising,  his  brows  close  drawn, 
"  now  hearken,  and  mark  me  well ;  the  hole  whereby  one 
man  came  out  may  let  a  thousand  in.  Give  me  but  an 
hundred  men  at  my  back  and  Garthlaxton  shall  be  aflame 
ere  dawn.  So,  come  now,  Walkyn  —  bring  me  to  the  out- 
laws." 

"  But  lord,  these  be  very  wild  men,  obedient  to  no  law 
save  their  own,  and  will  follow  none  but  their  own ;  lawless 
men  forsooth,  governed  only  by  the  sword  and  made  des- 
perate by  wrong  and  fear  of  the  rope  — " 


2i8  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Then  'tis  time  one  learned  them  other  ways,  Walkyn. 
So  now  I  command  thee,  bring  me  to  them  — 'tis  said  thou 
wert  great  among  them  once." 

Hereupon  Walkyn  rose  and  taking  up  his  mighty  axe 
twirled  it  lightly  in  his  hand.  "  Behold,  lord,"  said  he, 
"  by  virtue  of  this  good  axe  am  I  free  of  the  wild-wood ; 
for,  long  since,  when  certain  lords  of  Black  Ivo  burned  our 
manor,  and  our  mother  and  sister  and  father  therein,  my 
twin  brother  and  I  had  fashioned  two  axes  such  as  few 
men  might  wield  —  this  and  another  —  and  thus  armed, 
took  to  the  green  where  other  wronged  men  joined  us 
till  we  counted  many  a  score  tall  fellows,  lusty  fighters  all. 
And  many  of  Ivo's  rogues  we  slew  until  of  those  knights 
and  men-at-arms  that  burned  our  home  there  none  re- 
mained save  Red  Pertolepe  and  Gui  of  Allerdale.  But  in 
the  green  —  love  came  —  even  to  me  —  so  I  laid  by  mine 
axe  and  vengeance  likewise  and  came  to  know  happiness 
until  —  upon  a  day  —  they  hanged  my  brother,  and  there- 
after they  slew  —  her  —  my  wife  and  child  —  e'en  as  ye 
saw.  Then  would  I  have  joined  the  outlaAvs  again.  But 
in  my  place  they  had  set  up  one  Tostig,  a  sturdy  rogue 
and  foul,  who  ruleth  by  might  of  arm  and  liveth  but  for 
plunder  —  and  worse.  Him  I  would  have  fought,  but 
upon  that  night  I  fell  in  with  thee.  Thus,  see  you, 
though  I  am  free  of  the  wild,  power  with  these  outlaws 
have  I  none.  So,  an  I  should  bring  thee  into  their  secret 
lurking-place,  Tostig  would  assuredly  give  thee  to  swift 
death,  nor  could  I  save  thee  — " 

"  Yet  must  I  go,"  said  Beltane,  "  since,  while  I  live, 
vowed  am  I  to  free  Pentavalon.  And  what,  think  you, 
is  Pentavalon?  'Tis  not  her  hills  and  valleys,  her  towns 
and  cities,  but  the  folk  that  dwell  therein ;  they,  each  one, 
man  and  woman  and  child,  the  rich  and  poor,  the  high 
and  low,  the  evil  and  the  good,  aye,  all  those  that  live  in 
outlawry  —  these  are  Pentavalon.  So  now  will  I  go  unto 
these  wild  men,  and  once  they  follow  my  call,  ne'er  will 
I  rest  until  they  be  free  men  every  one.  Each  blow  they 
strike,  the  wounds  they  suffer,  shall  win  them  back  to 


of  the  Refuge  Within  the  Green     219 

honourable  life,  to  hearth  and  home  —  and  thus  shall 
they  be  free  indeed.  So,  Walkyn,  bring  me  to  the  out- 
laws !  " 

Then  stood  Walkyn  and  looked  upon  Beltane  'neath 
heavy  brows,  nothing  speaking,  and  turned  him  of  a  sud- 
den and,  striding  forth  of  the  cave,  came  back  bearing  an- 
other great  axe. 

"  Lord,"  said  he,  "  thy  long  sword  is  missing,  methinks. 
Take  now  this  axe  in  place  of  it  — 'twas  my  brother's  once. 
See,  I  have  kept  it  bright,  for  I  loved  him.  He  was  a 
man.  Yet  man  art  thou  also,  worthy,  methinks,  and  able 
to  wield  it.  Take  it  therefore,  lord  Duke  that  art  my 
brother-in-arms ;  mayhap  it  shall  aid  thee  to  bring  order 
in  the  wild-wood  and  win  Pentavalon  to  freedom.  How- 
beit,  wheresoe'er  thou  dost  go,  e'en  though  it  be  to  shame 
and  failure,  I  am  with  thee !  " 

"  And  I !  "  cried  Giles,  reaching  for  his  bow. 

"  And  I  also !  "  quoth  Roger. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HOW  BELTANE   SLEW   TOSTIG  AND   SPAKE   WITH   THE 
WILD    MEN 

The  sun  was  down  what  time  they  left  the  hill  country 
and  came  out  upon  a  wide  heath  void  of  trees  and  desolate, 
where  was  a  wind  cold  and  clammy  to  chill  the  flesh,  where 
rank-growing  rush  and  reed  stirred  fitfully,  filling  the 
dark  with  stealthy  rustlings. 

"  Master,"  quoth  Roger,  shivering  and  glancing  about 
him,  "  here  is  Hangstone  Waste,  and  yonder  the  swamps 
of  Hundleby  Fen  —  you  can  smell  them  from  here !  And 
'tis  an  evil  place,  this,  for  'tis  said  the  souls  of  murdered 
folk  do  meet  here  betimes,  and  hold  high  revel  when  the 
moon  be  full.  Here,  on  wild  nights  witches  and  warlocks 
ride  shrieking  upon  the  wind,  with  goblins  damned  — " 

"  Ha,  say  ye  so,  good  Roger.''  "  quoth  the  archer,  "  now 
the  sweet  Saint  Giles  go  with  us  —  amen !  "  and  he  crossed 
himself  devoutly. 

So  went  they  in  silence  aAvhile  until  they  were  come 
where  the  sedge  grew  thick  and  high  above  whispering 
ooze,  and  where  trees,  stunted  and  misshapen,  lifted 
knotted  arms  in  the  gloom. 

"  Lord,"  spake  Walkyn,  his  voice  low  and  awe-struck, 
"  here  is  the  marsh,  a  place  of  death  for  them  that  know 
it  not,  where,  an  a  man  tread  awry,  is  a  quaking  slime  to 
suck  him  under.  Full  many  a  man  lieth  'neath  the  reeds 
yonder,  for  there  is  but  one  path,  very  narrow  and  wind- 
ing —  follow  close  then,  and  step  where  I  shall  step." 

"  Aye,  master,"  whispered  Roger,  "  and  look  ye  touch 
no  tree  as  ye  go ;  'tis  said  they  do  grow  from  the  bones  of 
perished  men,  so  touch  them  not  lest  some  foul  goblin  blast 
thee." 


How  Beltane  Slew  Tostig      221 

So  went  they,  following  a  narrow  track  that  wound  be- 
twixt slow-stirring  sedge,  past  trees  huddled  and  distorted 
that  seemed  to  writhe  and  shiver  in  the  clammy  air  until, 
beyond  the  swamp,  they  came  to  a  place  of  rocks  where 
ragged  crags  loomed  high  and  vague  before  them.  Now, 
all  at  once,  Walk}^  raised  a  warning  hand,  as  from  the 
shadow  of  those  rocks,  a  hoarse  voice  challenged: 

"  Stand !  "  cried  the  voice,  "  who  goes  ?  " 

"  What,  and  is  it  thou,  rogue  Perkyn  ?  "  cried  Walkyn, 
**art  blind  not  to  know  me?  " 

"  Aye,"  growled  the  voice,  "  but  blind  or  no,  I  see 
others  with  thee." 

"  Good  friends  all !  "  quoth  Walkyn. 

"  Stand  forth  that  I  may  see  these  friends  o'  thine !  " 
Drawing  near.  Beltane  beheld  a  man  in  filthy  rags  who 
held  a  long  bow  in  his  hand  with  an  arrow  on  the  string, 
at  sight  of  whom  Roger  muttered  and  Giles  held  his  nose 
and  spat. 

"  Aha,"  growled  the  man  Perkyn,  peering  under  his 
matted  hair,  "  I  like  not  the  looks  o'  these  friends  o' 
thine  — " 

"  Nor  we  thine,  foul  fellow,"  quoth  Giles,  and  spat  again 
whole-heartedly. 

"  How !  "  cried  Walkyn  fiercely,  "  d'ye  dare  bid  Walkyn 
stand,  thou  dog's  meat.'*  Must  I  flesh  mine  axe  on  thy 
vile  carcase?  " 

"  Not  till  I  feather  a  shaft  in  thee,"  growled  Perkyn, 
**  what  would  ye  ?  " 

"  Speak  with  Eric  o'  the  Noose." 

"  Aha,  and  what  would  ye  with  half-hung  Eric,  for- 
sooth? Tostig's  our  chief,  and  Tostig's  man  am  I.  As 
for  Eric  — " 

"Aye  —  aye,  and  what  of  Eric?"  spake  a  third 
voice  —  a  soft  voice  and  liquid,  and  a  man  stepped  forth 
of  the  rocks  with  two  other  men  at  his  heels. 

"  Now  well  met,  Eric  o'  the  Noose,"  quoth  Walkyn. 
"  I  bring  promise  of  more  booty,  and  mark  this,  Eric  • —  I 
bring  also  him  that  you  wot  of." 


222  Beltane  the  Smith 

Now  hereupon  the  man  Eric  drew  near,  a  broad-set 
man  clad  in  skins  and  rusty  mail  who  looked  upon  Beltane 
with  head  strangely  askew,  and  touched  a  furtive  hand 
to  his  battered  head-piece. 

"  Ye  come  at  an  evil  hour,"  said  he,  speaking  low- 
voiced.  "  Tostig  holdeth  high  feast  and  revel,  for  to-day 
we  took  a  rich  booty  at  the  ford  beyond  Bassingthorp  — 
merchants  out  of  Winisfarne,  with  pack-horses  well 
laden  —  and  there  were  women  also  —  in  especial,  one 
very  fair.  Her,  Tostig  bore  hither.  But  a  while  since, 
when  he  bade  them  bring  her  to  him,  behold  she  had 
stabbed  herself  with  her  bodkin.  So  is  she  dead  and 
Tostig  raging.     Thus  I  say,  ye  come  in  an  evil  hour." 

"  Not  so,"  answered  Beltane.  *'  Methinks  we  come  in 
good  hour.  I  am  fain  to  speak  with  Tostig  —  come !  " 
and  he  stepped  forward,  but  Eric  caught  him  by  the  arm: 

"  Messire,"  said  he  soft-voiced,  "  yonder  be  over  five 
score  lusty  fellows,  fierce  and  doughty  fighters  all,  that 
live  but  to  do  the  will  of  Tostig  and  do  proclaim  him  chief 
since  he  hath  proved  himself  full  oft  mightiest  of  all  — " 

"  Ah,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  a  strong  man !  " 

*'  Beyond  equal.  A  fierce  man  that  knoweth  not  mercy, 
swift  to  anger  and  joyful  to  slay  at  all  times — " 

"  Why,  look  you,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  neither  am  I  a 
lamb.     Come,  fain  am  I  to  speak  with  this  Tostig." 

A  while  stood  Eric,  head  aslant,  peering  at  Beltane, 
then,  at  a  muttered  word  from  Walkyn,  he  shook  his  head 
and  beckoning  the  man  Perkyn  aside,  led  the  way  through 
a  cleft  in  the  rocks  and  up  a  precipitous  path  beyond ;  and 
as  he  went.  Beltane  saw  him  loosen  sword  in  scabbard. 

Ever  as  they  clomb,  the  path  grew  more  difficult,  until 
at  last  they  were  come  to  a  parapet  or  outwork  with  man- 
telets of  osiers  beyond,  cunningly  wrought,  above  which  a 
pike-head  glimmered  and  from  beyond  which  a  voice  chal- 
lenged them;  but  at  a  word  from  Eric  the  sentinel  stood 
aside  and  behold,  a  narrow  opening  in  the  parapet  through 
which  they  passed  and  so  up  another  path  defended  by 
yet  another  parapet  of  osiers.     Now  of  a  sudden,  having 


How  Beltane  Slew  Tostig      223 

climbed  the  ascent,  Beltane  paused  and  stood  leaning  upon 
his  axe,  for,  from  where  he  now  stood,  he  looked  down  into 
a  great  hollow,  green  and  rock-begirt,  whose  steep  sides 
were  shaded  by  trees  and  dense-growing  bushes.  In  the 
midst  of  this  hollow  a  fire  burned  whose  blaze  showed 
many  wild  figures  that  sprawled  round  about  in  garments 
of  leather  and  garments  of  skins;  its  ruddy  light  showed 
faces  fierce  and  hairy ;  it  glinted  on  rusty  mail  and  flashed 
back  from  many  a  dinted  head-piece  and  broad  spear- 
head; and  upon  the  air  was  the  sound  of  noisy  talk  and 
boisterous  laughter. 

Through  the  midst  of  this  great  green  hollow  a  stream 
wound  that  broadened  out  in  one  place  into  a  still  and 
sleepy  pool  upon  whose  placid  surface  stars  seemed  to 
float,  a  deep  pool  whereby  was  a  tall  tree.  Now  beneath 
this  tree,  far  removed  from  the  fire,  sat  a  great  swarthy 
fellow,  chin  on  fist,  scowling  down  at  that  which  lay  at 
his  feet,  and  of  a  sudden  he  spurned  this  still  and  silent 
shape  with  savage  foot. 

"  Oswin !  "  he  cried,  "  Walcher !  Throw  me  this  useless 
carrion  into  the  pool ! "  Hereupon  came  two  sturdy 
rogues  who,  lifting  the  dead  betwixt  them,  bore  her  to  the 
edge  of  the  silent  pool.  Once  they  swung  and  twice,  and 
lo,  the  floating  stars  shivered  to  a  sullen  splash,  and  sub- 
siding, rippled  softly  to  the  reedy  banks. 

Slowly  the  swarth3'  giant  rose  and  stood  upon  his  legs, 
and  Beltane  knew  him  for  the  tallest  man  he  had  ever  seen. 

"  Oswin,"  quoth  he,  and  beckoned  with  his  finger, 
"  Oswin,  did  I  not  bid  thee  keep  watch  upon  yon  dainty 
light  o'  love?"  Now  meeting  the  speaker's  baleful  eye, 
the  man  Oswin  sprang  back,  striving  to  draw  sword,  but 
even  so  an  iron  hand  was  about  his  throat,  he  was  lifted 
by  a  mighty  arm  that  held  him  a  while  choking  and  kick- 
ing above  the  silent  pool  until  he  had  gasped  and  kicked 
his  life  out  'midst  shouts  and  gibes  and  hoarse  laughter; 
thereafter  again  the  sullen  waters  quivered,  were  still,  and 
Tostig  stood,  empty-handed,  frowning  down  at  those 
floating  stars. 


2  24  Beltane  the  Smith 

Then  Beltane  leapt  down  into  the  hollow  and  strode 
swift-footed,  nor  stayed  until  he  stood  face  to  face  with 
Tostig  beside  the  sullen  pool.  But  swift  as  he  had  come, 
Roger  had  followed,  and  now  stood  to  his  back,  hand  on 
sword. 

"  Aha ! "  quoth  Tostig  in  staring  amaze,  and  stood 
a  while  eying  Beltane  with  hungry  gaze.  "  By  Thor !  " 
said  he,  "  but  'tis  a  good  armour  and  should  fit  me  well. 
Off  with  it  —  off,  I  am  Tostig!"  So  saying,  he  drew  a 
slow  pace  nearer,  his  teeth  agleam,  his  great  hands  open- 
ing and  shutting,  whereat  out  leapt  Roger's  blade;  but 
now  the  outlaws  came  running  to  throng  about  them, 
shouting  and  jostling  one  another,  and  brandishing  their 
weapons  yet  striking  no  blow,  waiting  gleefully  for  what 
might  befall;  and  ever  Beltane  looked  upon  Tostig,  and 
Tostig,  assured  and  confident,  smiled  grimly  upon  Beltane 
until  the  ragged  throng  about  them,  watching  eager-eyed, 
grew  hushed  and  still.     Then  Beltane  spake : 

"  Put  up  thy  sword,  Roger,"  said  he,  "  in  very  truth 
this  Tostig  is  a  foul  thing  and  should  not  die  by  thy  good 
steel  —  so  put  up  thy  sword,  Roger." 

And  now,  no  man  spake  or  moved,  but  all  stood  rigid 
and  scarce  breathing,  waiting  for  the  end.  For  Tostig, 
smiling  no  more,  stood  agape  as  one  that  doubts  his  senses, 
then  laughed  he  loud  and  long,  and  turned  as  if  to  reach 
his  sword  that  leaned  against  the  tree  and,  in  that  instant, 
sprang  straight  for  Beltane's  throat,  his  griping  hands 
outstretched ;  but  swift  as  he,  Beltane,  letting  fall  his  axe, 
slipped  aside  and  smote  with  mailed  fist,  and  as  Tostig 
reeled  from  the  blow,  closed  with  and  caught  him  in  a 
deadly  wrestling  hold,  for  all  men  might  see  Beltane  had 
locked  one  arm  'neath  Tostig's  bearded  chin  and  that 
Tostig's  shaggy  head  was  bending  slowly  backwards. 
Then  the  outlaws  surged  closer,  a  dark,  menacing  ring 
where  steel  flickered ;  but  lo !  to  Roger's  right  hand  sprang 
Walkyn,  gripping  his  axe,  and  upon  his  left  came  Giles, 
his  long-bow  poised,  a  shaft  upon  the  string;  so  stood 
the  three  alert  and  watchful,  eager  for  fight,  what  time 


How  Beltane  Slew  Tostig      225 

the  struggle  waxed  ever  more  fierce  and  deadly.  To  and 
fro  the  wrestlers  swayed,  locked  in  vicious  grapple,  grimly 
silent  save  for  the  dull  trampling  of  their  feet  upon  the 
moss  and  the  gasp  and  hiss  of  panting  breaths ;  writhing 
and  twisting,  stumbling  and  slipping,  or  suddenly  still  with 
feet  that  gripped  the  sod,  with  bulging  muscles,  swelled 
and  rigid,  that  cracked  beneath  the  strain,  while  eye  glared 
death  to  eye.  But  Beltane's  iron  fingers  were  fast  locked, 
and  little  by  little,  slow  but  sure,  Tostig's  swart  head  was 
tilting  up  and  back,  further  and  further,  until  his  forked 
beard  pointed  upwards  —  until,  of  a  sudden,  there  brake 
from  his  writhen  lips  a  cry,  loud  and  shrill  that  sank  to 
groan  and  ended  in  a  sound  —  a  faint  sound,  soft  and 
sudden.  But  now,  behold,  Tostig's  head  swayed  loosely 
backwards  behind  his  shoulders,  his  knees  sagged,  his  great 
arms  loosed  their  hold:  then,  or  he  could  fall.  Beltane 
stooped  beneath  and  putting  forth  all  his  strength,  raised 
him  high  above  his  head,  and  panting,  groaning  with  the 
strain,  turned  and  hurled  dead  Tostig  down  into  the  pool 
whose  sullen  waters  leapt  to  a  mighty  splash,  and  pres- 
ently subsiding,  whispered  softly  in  the  reeds;  and  for  a 
while  no  man  stirred  or  spoke,  only  Beltane  stood  upon 
the  marge  and  panted. 

Then  turned  he  to  the  outlaws,  and  catching  up  his  axe 
therewith  pointed  downwards  to  that  stilly  pool  whose 
placid  waters  seemed  to  hold  nought  but  a  glory  of  float- 
ing stars. 

"  Behold,"  he  panted,  "  here  was  an  evil  man  —  a  men- 
ace to  well-being,  wherefore  is  he  dead.  But  as  for  ye, 
come  tell  me  —  how  long  will  ye  be  slaves.''  " 

Hereupon  rose  a  hoarse  murmur  that  grew  and  grew  — 
a  sound  incoherent  yet  baleful;  steel  glittered  again. 
Then  stood  the  man  Perkyn  forward,  and  scowling, 
pointed  at  Beltane  with  his  spear. 

"  Comrades !  "  he  cried,  "  he  hath  slain  Tostig !  He 
hath  murdered  our  leader  —  come  now,  let  us  slay  him !  " 
and  speaking,  he  leapt  at  Beltane  with  levelled  spear,  but 
quick  as  he  leapt,  so  leapt  Walkyn,  his  long  arms  rose  and 


2  26  Beltane  the  Smith 

fell,  and  thereafter,  setting  his  foot  upon  Perkyn's  body, 
he  shook  his  bloody  axe  in  the  scowling  faces  of  the  out- 
laws. 

"  Back,  fools !  "  he  cried,  "  have  ye  no  eyes  ?  See  ye 
not  'tis  he  of  whom  I  spake  —  he  that  burned  Belsaye  gal- 
lows and  brake  ope  the  dungeon  of  Belsaye  —  that  is 
friend  to  all  distressed  folk  and  broken  men ;  know  ye  not 
Beltane  the  Duke?     Hear  him,  ye  fools,  hear  him!  " 

Hereupon  the  outlaws  stared  upon  Beltane  and  upon 
each  other,  and  fumbled  with  their  weapons  as  men  that 
knew  not  their  own  minds,  while  Beltane,  wiping  sweat 
from  him,  leaned  upon  his  axe  and  panted,  with  the  three 
at  his  elbow  alert  and  watchful,  eager  for  fight ;  but  Per- 
kyn  lay  where  he  had  fallen,  very  still  and  with  his  face 
hidden  in  the  grass. 

Of  a  sudden.  Beltane  laid  by  his  axe  and  reached  out 
his  hands. 

"  Brothers,"  said  he,  "  how  long  will  ye  be  slaves?  " 

"Slaves,  forsooth?"  cried  one,  "slaves  are  we  to  no 
man  —  here  within  the  green  none  dare  gainsay  us  —  we 
be  free  men,  one  and  all.      Is't  not  so,  comrades?  " 

"  Aye !     Aye !  "  roared  a  hundred  voices. 

"Free?"  quoth  Beltane,  "free?  Aye,  free  to  wander 
hither  and  thither,  hiding  forever  within  the  wilderness, 
living  ever  in  awe  and  dread  lest  ye  die  in  a  noose.  Free 
to  go  in  rags,  to  live  like  beasts,  to  die  unpitied  and  be 
thrown  into  a  hole,  or  left  to  rot  i'  the  sun  —  call  ye  this 
freedom,  forsooth?  Hath  none  among  ye  desire  for 
hearth  and  home,  for  wife  and  child  —  are  ye  become  so 
akin  to  beasts  indeed?  " 

Now  hereupon,  divers  muttered  in  their  beards  and 
others  looked  askance  on  one  another.  Then  spake  the 
man  Eric,  of  the  wry  neck. 

"  Messire,"  quoth  he,  "  all  that  you  say  is  sooth,  but 
what  remedy  can  ye  bring  to  such  as  we.     Say  now?  " 

Then  spake  Beltane  on  this  wise: 

"  All  ye  that  have  suffered  wrong,  all  ye  that  be  broken 
men  —  hearken !     Life  is  short  and  quick  to  escape  a  man. 


How  Beltane  Slew  Tostig      227 

yet  do  all  men  cherish  it,  and  to  what  end?  What  seek 
ye  of  life  —  is  it  arms,  is  it  riches  ?  Go  with  me  and  I  will 
teach  ye  how  they  shall  be  come  by.  Are  ye  heavy-hearted 
by  reasor  of  your  wrongs  —  of  bitter  shame  wrought  upon 
the  weak  and  innocent?  Seek  ye  vengeance?  —  would  ye 
see  tyrants  die?  —  seek  ye  their  blood,  forsooth?  Then 
follow  me !  " 

Now  at  this  the  outlaws  began  to  murmur  among  them- 
selves, wagging  their  heads  one  to  another  and  voicing 
their  grievances  thus : 

"  They  cut  off  mine  ears  for  resisting  my  lord's  taxes, 
and  for  this  I  would  have  justice !  " 

"  They  burned  me  in  the  hand  for  striking  my  lord's 
hunting  dog !  " 

"  I  had  a  wife  once,  and  she  was  young  and  fair ;  so  my 
lord's  son  took  her  and  thereafter  gave  her  for  sport 
among  his  huntsmen,  whereof  she  died  —  and  for  this 
would  I  have  vengeance  !  " 

"  They  burned  my  home,  and  therein  wife  and  child  — 
and  for  this  would  I  have  vengeance !  " 

"  They  cut  off  my  brother's  hands !  " 

"  They  put  out  my  father's  eyes !  " 

Quoth  Eric: 

"  And  me  they  sought  to  hang  to  mine  own  roof-tree !  — • 
behold  this  crooked  neck  o'  mine  —  so  am  I  Eric  o'  the 
Noose.  Each  one  of  us  hath  suffered  wrong,  great  or 
little,  so  live  we  outlaws  in  the  green,  lawless  men  in  law- 
less times,  seeking  ever  vengeance  for  our  wrongs.  Who 
then  shall  bring  us  to  our  desire,  how  shall  our  grievous 
wrongs  be  righted?  An  we  follow,  whither  would'st  thou 
lead  us?  " 

"  By  dangerous  ways,"  answered  Beltane,  "  through 
fire  and  battle.  But  by  fire  men  are  purged,  and  by  battle  , 
wrongs  may  be  done  away.  An  ye  follow,  'tis  like  some 
of  us  shall  die,  but  by  such  death  our  brethren  shall  win 
to  honour,  and  home,  and  happiness,  for  happiness  is  all 
men's  birthright.  Ye  are  but  a  wild,  unordered  rabble, 
yet  are  ye  men!     'Tis  true  ye  are  ill-armed  and  ragged. 


2  28  Beltane  the  Smith 

yet  is  your  cause  a  just  one.  Ye  bear  weapons  and  have 
arms  to  smite  —  why  then  lurk  ye  here  within  the  wild- 
wood?  Will  not  fire  burn?  Will  not  steel  cut?  He  that 
is  not  coward,  let  him  follow  me !  " 

"  Aye,"  cried  a  score  of  harsh  voices,  "  but  whither  — 
whither  ?  " 

Quoth  Beltane:. 

"  Be  there  many  among  ye  that  know  Sir  Pertolepe  the 
Red?" 

Now  went  there  up  a  roar,  deep-lunged  and  ominous ; 
brawny  fists  were  shaken  and  weapons  flashed  and  glit- 
tered. 

"  Ah  —  we  know  him  —  the  Red  Wolf  —  we  know  him 
—  ah !  " 

"Then  tell  me,"  said  Beltane,  "will  not  steel  cut? 
Will  not  fire  burn?  Arise,  I  say,  rise  up  and  follow  me. 
So  will  we  smite  Tyranny  this  night  and  ere  the  dawn 
Garthlaxton  shall  be  ablaze !  " 

"  Garthlaxton ! "  cried  Eric,  "Garthlaxton!"  and 
thereafter  all  men  stared  on  Beltane  as  one  that  is  mad. 

"  Look  now,"  said  Beltane,  "  Sir  Pertolepe  hath  ridden 
forth  with  all  his  company  to  join  Black  Ivo's  banner. 
Thus,  within  Garthlaxton  his  men  be  few ;  moreover  T 
know  a  secret  way  beneath  the  wall.  Well,  is't  enough? 
Who  among  ye  will  follow,  and  smite  for  freedom  and 
Pentavalon  ?  " 

"  That  will  I !  "  cried  Eric,  falling  upon  his  knee. 

"  And  I !  And  I !  "  cried  others,  and  so  came  they  to 
crowd  eagerly  about  Beltane,  to  touch  his  hand  or  the 
links  of  his  bright  mail. 

"  Lead  us !  "  they  cried,  "  come  —  lead  us  !  " 

"  Nay  first  —  hearken !  From  henceforth  outlaws  are 
ye  none.  Come  now,  one  and  all,  draw,  and  swear  me  on 
your  swords : —  To  make  your  strength  a  shelter  to  the 
weak ;  to  smite  henceforth  but  in  honourable  cause  for 
freedom,  for  justice  and  Pentavalon  —  swear  me  upon 
your  swords  to  abide  by  this  oath,  and  to  him  that  breaks 
it  —  Death.      Swear !  " 


How  Beltane  Slew  Tostig      229 

So  there  upon  their  knees  with  gleaming  swords  up- 
lifted, these  wild  men  swore  the  oath.  Then  up  sprang 
Walkyn,  pointing  to  Beltane  with  his  axe. 

"  Brothers !  "  he  cried,  "  behold  a  man  that  doeth  such 
deeds  as  no  man  ever  did  —  that  burned  the  gallows  — 
burst  ope  the  dungeon  of  Belsaye  and  slew  Tostig  the 
mighty  with  naked  hands!  Behold  Beltane  the  Duke! 
Is  he  not  worthy  to  be  our  leader  —  shall  we  not  follow 
him  ?  "     Then  came  a  roar  of  voices : 

"  Aye  —  let  us  follow  —  let  us  follow !  " 

"  On,  then ! "  cried  Walkyn,  his  glittering  axe  aloft. 
"  To  Garthlaxton !  " 

Then  from  an  hundred  brawny  throats  a  roar  went  up 
to  heaven,  a  cry  that  hissed  through  clenched  teeth  and 
rang  from  eager  lips,  wilder,  fiercer  than  before.  And 
the  cry  was :  — 

"Garthlaxton!" 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HOW   THEY   SMOTE   GAETHLAXTON 

It  was  in  the  cold,  still  hour  'twixt  night  and  dawn  that 
Beltane  halted  his  wild  company  upon  the  edge  of  the 
forest  where  ran  a  water-brook  gurgling  softly  in  the 
dark;  here  did  he  set  divers  eager  fellows  to  fell  a  tree 
and  thereafter  to  lop  away  branch  and  twig,  and  so,  bid- 
ding them  wait,  stole  forward  alone.  Soon  before  him 
rose  Garthlaxton,  frowning  blacker  than  the  night,  a 
gloom  of  tower  and  turret,  of  massy  wall  and  battlement, 
its  mighty  keep  rising  stark  and  grim  against  a  faint 
light  of  stars.  Now  as  he  stood  to  scan  with  purposeful 
eye  donjon  and  bartizan,  merlon  and  arrow-slit  for  gleam 
of  light,  for  glint  of  mail  or  pike-head,  he  grew  aware  of 
a  sound  hard  by,  yet  very  faint  and  sweet,  that  came  and 
went  —  a  small  and  silvery  chime  he  could  by  no  means 
account  for.  So  crept  he  near  and  nearer,  quick-eyed  and 
with  ears  on  the  stretch  till  he  was  stayed  by  the  broad, 
sluggish  waters  of  the  moat ;  and  thus,  he  presently  espied 
something  that  moved  in  the  gloom  high  above  the  great 
gateway,  something  that  stirred,  pendulous,  in  the  cold- 
breathing  air  of  coming  dawn. 

Now  as  he  peered  upward  through  the  gloom,  came  the 
wind,  colder,  stronger  than  before  —  a  chill  and  ghostly 
wind  that  flapped  the  heavy  folds  of  his  mantle,  that 
sighed  forlornly  in  the  woods  afar,  and  softly  smote  the 
misty,  jingling  thing  above  —  swayed  it  —  swung  it  out 
from  the  denser  shadows  of  scowling  battlement  so  that 
Beltane  could  see  at  last,  and  seeing  —  started  back  faint 
and  sick,  his  flesh  a-creep,  his  breath  in  check  'twixt  pale 
and  rigid  lips.     And  beholding  what  manner  of  thing  this 


How  They  Smote  Garthlaxton      231 

was,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  with  head  bowed  low  yet  spake 
no  prayer,  only  his  hands  gripped  fiercely  upon  his  axe; 
while  to  and  fro  in  the  dark  above,  that  awful  shape 
turned  and  swung  —  its  flaunting  cock's-comb  dreadfully 
awry,  its  motley  stained  and  rent  —  a  wretched  thing, 
twisted  and  torn,  a  thing  of  blasting  horror. 

And  ever  as  it  swung  upon  the  air,  it  rang  a  chime  upon 
its  little,  silver  bells ;  a  merry  chime  and  mocking,  that 
seemed  to  gibe  at  coming  day. 

Now  in  a  while,  looking  upon  that  awful,  dim-seen 
shape.  Beltane  spake  low-voiced. 

"  O  Beda ! "  he  whispered,  "  O  manly  heart  hid  'neath 
a  Fool's  disguise !  O  Fool,  that  now  art  wiser  than  the 
wisest!  Thy  pains  and  sorrows  have  lifted  thee  to 
heaven,  methinks,  and  freed  now  of  thy  foolish  clay  thou 
dost  walk  with  angels  and  look  within  the  face  of  God! 
But,  by  thine  agonies  endured,  now  do  I  swear  this  night 
to  raise  to  thy  poor  Fool's  body  a  pyre  fit  for  the  flesh  of 
kings ! " 

Then  Beltane  arose  and  lifting  high  his  axe,  shook  it 
against  Garthlaxton's  frowning  might,  where  was  neither 
glint  of  armour  nor  gleam  of  pike-head,  and  turning, 
hasted  back  to  that  dark  and  silent  company  which,  at 
his  word,  rose  up  from  brake  and  fern  and  thicket,  and 
followed  whither  he  led,  a  long  line,  soundless  and  phan- 
tom-like within  a  phantom  world,  where  a  grey  mist 
swirled  and  drifted  in  the  death-cold  air  of  dawn.  Swift 
and  silent  they  followed  him,  these  wild  men,  with  fierce 
eyes  and  scowling  faces  all  set  toward  that  mighty  keep 
that  loomed  high  against  the  glimmering  stars.  Axe  and 
bow,  sword  and  pike  and  gisarm,  in  rusty  mail,  in  rags  of 
leather  and  skins,  they  crept  from  bush  to  bush,  from  tree 
to  tree,  till  they  were  come  to  that  little  pool  wherein 
Beltane  had  bathed  him  aforetime  in  the  dawn.  Here 
they  halted  what  time  Beltane  sought  to  and  fro  along 
the  bank  of  the  stream,  until  at  last,  within  a  screen  of 
leaves  and  vines  he  found  the  narrow  opening  he  sought. 
Then  turned  he  and  beckoned  those  ghostly,  silent  shapes 


232  Beltane  the  Smith 

about  him,  and  speaking  quick  and  low,  counselled  them 
thus: 

"  Look  now,  this  secret  burrow  leadeth  under  the 
foundations  of  the  keep ;  thus,  so  soon  as  we  be  in,  let 
Walkyn  and  Giles  with  fifty  men  haste  to  smite  all  within 
the  gate-house,  then  up  with  portcullis  and  down  with 
drawbridge  and  over  into  the  barbican  there  to  lie  in 
ambush,  what  time  Roger  and  I,  with  Eric  here  and  the 
fifty  and  five,  shall  fire  the  keep  and,  hid  within  the  dark, 
raise  a  mighty  outcry,  that  those  within  the  keep  and 
they  that  garrison  the  castle,  roused  by  the  fire  and  our 
shout,  shall  issue  out  amazed.  So  will  we  fall  upon  them 
and  they,  taken  by  surprise,  shall  seek  to  escape  us  by 
the  gate.  Then,  Walkyn,  sally  ye  out  of  the  barbican  and 
smite  them  at  the  drawbridge,  so  shall  we  have  them  front 
and  rear.     How  think  you?     Is  it  agreed?" 

"  Agreed !  agreed ! "  came  the  gruff  and  whispered 
chorus. 

"  Then  last  —  and  mark  this  well  each  one  —  till  that 
I  give  the  word,  let  no  man  speak!  Let  death  be  swift, 
but  let  it  be  silent." 

Then,  having  drawn  his  mail-hood  about  his  face  and 
laced  it  close.  Beltane  caught  up  his  axe  and  stepped  into 
the  tunnel.  There  he  kindled  a  torch  of  pine  and  stoop- 
ing 'neath  the  low  roof,  went  on  before.  One  by  one  the 
others  followed,  Roger  and  Giles,  Walkyn  and  Eric  bear- 
ing the  heavy  log  upon  their  shoulders,  and  behind  them 
axe  and  bow,  sword  and  pike  and  gisarm,  a  wild  company 
in  garments  of  leather  and  garments  of  skins,  soft-tread- 
ing and  silent  as  ghosts  —  yet  purposeful  ghosts  withal. 

Soon  came  they  to  the  iron  door  and  Beltane  stood 
aside,  whereon  the  mighty  four,  bending  brawny  shoulders, 
swung  the  log  crashing  against  the  iron;  thrice  and  four 
times  smote  they,  might  and  main,  ere  rusted  bolt  and 
rivet  gave  beneath  the  battery  and  the  door  swung  wide. 
Down  went  the  log,  and  ready  steel  flashed  as  Beltane 
strode  on,  his  torch  aflare,  'twixt  oozing  walls,  up  steps 
of  stone  that  yet  were  slimy  to  the  tread,  on  and  up  by 


How  They  Smote  Garthlaxton      233 

winding  passage  and  steep-climbing  stairway,  until  they 
came  where  was  a  parting  of  the  ways  —  the  first  still 
ascending,  the  second  leading  off  at  a  sharp  angle.  Here 
Beltane  paused  in  doubt,  and  bidding  the  others  halt,  fol- 
lowed the  second  passage  until  he  was  come  to  a  narrow 
flight  of  steps  that  rose  to  the  stone  roof  above.  But 
here,  in  the  wall  beside  the  steps,  he  beheld  a  rusty  iron 
lever,  and  reaching  up,  he  bore  upon  the  lever  and  lo !  the 
flagstone  above  the  steps  reared  itself  on  end  and  showed  a 
square  of  gloom  beyond. 

Then  went  Beltane  and  signalled  to  the  others ;  so,  one 
by  one,  they  followed  him  up  through  the  opening  into 
that  same  gloomy  chamber  where  he  had  lain  in  bonds 
and  hearkened  to  wails  of  torment ;  but  now  the  place  was 
bare  and  empty  and  the  door  stood  ajar.  So  came  Bel- 
tane thither,  bearing  the  torch,  and  stepped  softly  into 
the  room  beyond,  a  wide  room,  arras-hung  .and  richly 
furnished,  and  looking  around  upon  the  voluptuous  luxury 
of  gilded  couch  and  wide,  soft  bed,  Beltane  frowned  sud- 
denly upon  a  woman's  dainty,  broidered  shoe. 

"  Roger,"  he  whispered,  "  what  place  is  this  ?  " 

"  'Tis  Red  Pertolepe's  bed-chamber,  master." 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  Beltane,  "  'tis  rank  of  him,  methinks  — 
lead  on,  Roger,  go  you  and  Walkyn  before  them  in  the 
dark,  and  wait  for  me  in  the  bailey." 

One  by  one,  the  wild  company  went  by  Beltane,  fierce- 
ejed  and  stealthy,  until  there  none  remained  save  Giles, 
who,  leaning  upon  his  bow,  looked  with  yearning  eyes  upon 
the  costly  splendour. 

"  Aha,"  he  whispered,  "  a  pretty  nest,  tall  brother. 
I'll  warrant  ye  full  many  a  fair  white  dove  hath  beat  her 
tender  pinions  — " 

"  Come ! "  said  Beltane,  and  speaking,  reached  out  his 
torch  to  bed-alcove  and  tapestried  wall;  and  immediately 
silk  and  arras  went  up  in  a  puff^  of  flame  —  a  leaping  fire, 
yellow-tongued,  that  licked  at  gilded  roof-beam  and  carven 
screen  and  panel. 

"  Brother ! "  whispered  Giles,  "  O  brother,   'tis   a  sin, 


2  34  Beltane  the  Smith 

methinks,  to  lose  so  much  good  booty.  That  coffer, 
now  —  Ha !  "  With  the  cry  the  archer  leapt  out  through 
the  tapestried  doorway.  Came  the  ring  of  steel,  a  heavy 
fall,  and  thereafter  a  shriek  that  rang  and  echoed  far  and 
near  ere  it  sank  to  a  silence  wherein  a  voice  whispered: 

"  Quick,  brother  —  the  besotted  fools  stir  at  last  — 
away !  " 

Then,  o'erleaping  that  which  sprawled  behind  the  cur- 
tain. Beltane  sped  along  a  passage  and  down  a  winding 
stair,  yet  pausing,  ever  and  anon,  with  flaring  torch :  and 
ever  small  fires  waxed  behind  him.  So  came  he  at  last  to 
the  sally-port  and  hurling  the  blazing  torch  behind  him, 
closed  the  heavy  door.  And  now,  standing  upon  the  plat- 
form, he  looked  down  into  the  inner  bailey.  Dawn  was 
at  hand,  a  glimmering  mist  wherein  vague  forms  moved, 
what  time  Walkyn,  looming  ghostly  and  gigantic  in  the 
mist,  mustered  his  silent,  ghostly  company  ere,  lifting  his 
axe,  he  turned  and  vanished,  his  fifty  phantoms  at  his 
heels. 

Now  glancing  upward  at  the  rugged  face  of  the  keep. 
Beltane  beheld  thin  wisps  of  smoke  that  curled  from  every 
arrow-slit,  slow-wreathing  spirals  growing  ever  denser  ere 
they  vanished  in  the  clammy  mists  of  dawn,  while  from 
within  a  muffled  clamour  rose  —  low  and  inarticulate  yet 
full  of  terror.  Then  Beltane  strode  down  the  zig-zag 
stair  and  came  forthright  upon  Roger,  pale  and  anxious, 
who  yet  greeted  him  in  joyous  whisper: 

"  Master,  I  began  to  fear  for  thee.     What  now?  " 

"  To  the  arch  of  the  parapet  yonder.  Let  each  man 
crouch  there  in  the  gloom,  nor  stir  until  I  give  word." 

Now  as  they  crouched  thus,  with  weapons  tight-gripped 
and  eyes  that  glared  upon  the  coming  day,  a  sudden 
trumpet  brayed  alarm  upon  the  battlements  —  shouts  were 
heard  far  and  near,  and  a  running  of  mailed  feet;  steel 
clashed,  the  great  castle,  waking  at  last,  was  all  astir 
about  them  and  full  of  sudden  bustle  and  tumult.  And 
ever  the  clamour  of  voices  waxed  upon  the  misty  air  from 
hurrying  groups  dim-seen  that  flitted  by,  arming  as  they 


How  They  Smote  Garthlaxton      235 

ran,  and  ever  the  fifty  and  five,  crouching  in  the  dark, 
impatient  for  the  sign,  watched  Beltane  —  his  firm-set  lip, 
his  frowning  brow;  and  ever  from  belching  arrow-slit  the 
curling  smoke-wreaths  waxed  blacker  and  more  dense.  Of 
a  sudden,  out  from  the  narrow  sally-port  burst  a  huddle  of 
choking  men,  whose  gasping  cries  pierced  high  above  the 
clamour: 

"Fire!  Fire!  Sir  Fulk  is  slain i  Sir  Fulk  lieth 
death-smitten !     Fire !  " 

From  near  and  far  men  came  running  —  men  affrighted 
and  dazed  with  sleep,  a  pushing,  jostling,  unordered 
throng,  and  the  air  hummed  with  the  babel  of  their  voices. 

And  now  at  last  —  up  sprang  Beltane,  his  mittened 
hand  aloft. 

"  Arise  I  "  he  cried,  "  Arise  and  smite  for  Pentavalon  I  " 
And  from  the  gloom  behind  him  a  hoarse  roar  went  up: 
"  Arise !  Arise  —  Pentavalon !  "  Then,  while  yet  the 
war-cry  thundered  in  the  air,  they  swept  down  on  that 
disordered  press,  and  the  bailey  rang  and  echoed  with  the 
fell  sounds  of  a  close-locked,  reeling  battle ;  a  hateful  din 
of  hoarse  shouting,  of  shrieks  and  cries  and  clashing  steel. 

Axe  and  spear,  sword  and  pike  and  gisarm  smote  and 
thrust  and  swayed;  stumbling  feet  spurned  and  trampled 
yielding  forms  that  writhed,  groaning,  beneath  the  press ; 
faces  glared  at  faces  haggard  with  the  dawn,  while  to  and 
fro,  through  swirling  mist  and  acrid  smoke,  the  battle 
rocked  and  swayed.  But  now  the  press  thinned  out,  broke 
and  yielded  before  Beltane's  whirling  axe,  and  turning,  he 
found  Roger  beside  him  all  a-sweat  and  direfully  be- 
splashed,  his  mailed  breast  heaving  as  he  leaned  gasping 
upon  a  broadsword  red  from  point  to  hilt. 

"  Ha,  master  I  "  he  panted, — "  'tis  done  already  —  see, 
they  break  and  fly !  " 

"  On  I  "  cried  Beltane,  "  on  —  pursue  I  pursue !  after 
them  to  the  gate !  " 

With  axe  and  spear,  with  sword  and  pike  and  gisarm 
they  smote  the  fugitives  across  the  wide  space  of  the  outer 
bailey,  under  the  naiTow  arch  of  the  gate-house  and  out 


236 


Beltane  the  Smith 


upon  the  drawbridge  beyond.  But  here,  of  a  sudden,  the 
fugitives  checked  their  flight  as  out  from  the  barbican 
Walkjn  leapt,  brandishing  his  axe,  and  with  the  fifty  at 
his  back.  So  there,  upon  the  bridge,  the  fight  raged 
fiercer  than  before ;  men  smote  and  died,  until  of  Sir  Per- 
tolepe's  garrison  there  none  remained  save  they  that  lit- 
tered that  narrow  causeway. 

"  Now  by  the  good  Saint  Giles  —  my  patron  saint," 
gasped  Giles,  wiping  the  sweat  from  him,  ''  here  was  a 
good  and  sweet  affray,  tall  brother  —  a  very  proper  fight, 
pugnus  et  calcihus  —  while  it  lasted — " 

"  Aye,"  growled  Walkyn,  spurning  a  smitten  wretch 
down  into  the  moat,  "  'twas  ended  too  soon !  Be  these  all 
in  faith,  lord?" 

But  now  upon  the  air  rose  shrill  cries  and  piercing 
screams  that  seemed  to  split  the  dawn. 

"  O  —  women  !  "  cried  Giles,  and  forthwith  cleansed  and 
sheathed  his  sword  and  fell  to  twirling  his  beard. 

"  Aha,  the  women !  "  cried  a  ragged  fellow,  turning 
about,  "  'tis  their  turn  —  let  us  to  the  women  — "  But  a 
strong  hand  caught  and  set  him  aside  and  Beltane  strode 
on  before  them  all,  treading  swift  and  light  until  he  was 
come  to  the  chapel  that  stood  beside  the  banqueting  hall. 
And  here  he  beheld  many  women,  young  and  fair  for  the 
most  part,  huddled  about  the  high  altar  or  struggling  in 
the  ragged  arms  that  grasped  them.  Now  did  they  (these 
poor  souls)  looking  up,  behold  one  in  knightly  mail 
stained  and  foul  with  battle,  yet  very  young  and  comely 
of  face,  who  leaned  him  upon  a  mighty,  blood-stained  axe 
and  scowled  'neath  frowning  brows.  Yet  his  frown  was 
not  for  them,  nor  did  his  blue  eyes  pause  at  any  one  of 
them,  whereat  hope  grew  within  them  and  with  white 
hands  outstretched  they  implored  his  pity. 

"  Men  of  Pentavalon,"  said  he,  "  as  men  this  night  have 
ye  fought  in  goodly  cause.  Will  ye  now  forget  your 
manhood  and  new-found  honour,  ye  that  did  swear  to  me 
upon  your  swords?     Come,  loose  me  these  women!  " 

"  Not  so,"  cried  one,  a  great,  red-headed  rogue,  "  we 


How  They  Smote  Garthlaxton      237 

have    fought    to    pleasure    thee  —  now    is    our    turn  — " 

"  Loose  me  these  women ! "  cried  Beltane,  his  blue  eyes 
fierce. 

"  Nay,  these  be  our  booty,  and  no  man  shall  gainsay  us. 
How  think  ye,  comrades?  " 

Now  Beltane  smiled  upon  this  red-haired  knave  and, 
smiling,  drew  a  slow  pace  nearer,  the  great  axe  a-swing  in 
his  mailed  hand. 

"  Fellow,"  quoth  he,  kind-voiced,  "  get  thee  out  now, 
lest  I  slay  thee !  "  Awhile  the  fellow  glared  upon  Beltane, 
beheld  his  smihng  look  and  deadly  eye,  and  slowly  loosing 
his  trembling  captive,  turned  and  strode  out,  muttering  as 
he  went.  Then  spake  Beltane  to  the  shrinking  women, 
yet  even  so  his  blue  eyes  looked  upon  none  of  them. 
Quoth  he: 

"  Ye  are  free  to  go  whither  ye  will.  Take  what  ye  will, 
none  shall  gainsay  you,  but  get  you  gone  within  this  hour, 
for  in  the  hour  Garthlaxton  shall  be  no  more." 

Then  beckoning  Walkyn  he  bade  him  choose  six  men, 
and  turning  to  the  women  — 

"  These  honourable  men  shall  bring  you  safe  upon  your 
way  —  haste  you  to  be  gone.  And  should  any  ask  how 
Garthlaxton  fell,  say,  'twas  by  the  hand  of  God,  as  a  sure 
and  certain  sign  that  Pentavalon  shall  yet  arise  to  smite 
evil  from  her  borders.  Say  also  that  he  that  spake  you 
this  was  one  Beltane,  son  of  Beltane  the  Strong,  hereto- 
fore Duke  of  Pentavalon."  Thus  said  Beltane  unto  these 
women,  his  brows  knit,  and  with  eyes  that  looked  aside 
from  each  and  every,  and  so  went  forth  of  the  chapel. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

HOW    GILES    MADE    A    MERRY    SONG 

Morning,  young  and  fragrant,  bedecked  and  brave  with 
gems  of  dewy  fire;  a  blithe  morning,  wherein  trees  stirred 
whispering  and  new-waked  birds  piped  joyous  welcome  to 
the  sun,  whose  level,  far-flung  beams  filled  the  world  with 
glory  save  where,  far  to  the  south,  a  pillar  of  smoke  rose 
upon  the  stilly  air,  huge,  awful,  and  black  as  sin  —  a 
writhing  column  shot  with  flame  that  went  up  high  as 
heaven. 

"  O  merry,  aye  merry,  right  merry  I'll  be, 

To  live  and  to  love  'neath  the  merry  green  tree, 

Nor  the  rain,  nor  the  sleet. 

Nor  the  cold,  nor  the  heat, 

I'll  mind,  if  my  love  will  come  thither  to  me." 

Sang  Giles,  a  sprig  of  wild  flowers  a-dance  in  his  new- 
gotten,  gleaming  bascinet,  his  long-bow  upon  his  mailed 
shoulder,  and,  strapped  to  his  wide  back,  a  misshapen 
bundle  that  clinked  melodiously  with  every  swinging  stride ; 
and,  while  he  sang,  the  ragged  rogues  about  him  ceased 
their  noise  and  ribaldry  to  hearken  in  delight,  and  when  he 
paused,  cried  out  amain  for  more.  Whereupon  Giles, 
nothing  loth,  brake  forth  afresh: 

"  O  when  is  the  time  a  maid  to  kiss, 
Tell  me  this,  ah,  tell  me  this? 
'Tis  when  the  day  is  new  begun, 
'Tis  to  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
Is  time  for  kissing  ever  done? 
Tell  me  this,  ah,  tell  me  this  ? 

Thus  blithely  sang  Giles  the  Archer,  above  the  tramp 
and  jingle  of  the  many  pack-horses,  until,  being  come  to 


How  Giles  Made  a  Merry  Song     239 

the  top  of  a  hill,  he  stood  aside  to  let  the  ragged  files 
swing  by  and  stayed  to  look  back  at  Garthlaxton  Keep. 

Now  as  he  stood  thus,  beholding  that  mighty  flame, 
Walkyn  and  Roger  paused  beside  him,  and  stood  to  scowl 
upon  the  fire  with  never  a  word  betwixt  them. 

"  How  now,"  cried  Giles,  "  art  in  the  doleful  dumps 
forsooth  on  so  blithe  a  morn,  with  two-score  pack-horses 
heavy  with  booty  —  and  Garthlaxton  aflame  yonder? 
Aha,  'tis  a  rare  blaze  yon,  a  fire  shall  warm  the  heart  of 
many  a  sorry  wretch,  methinks." 

"  Truly,"  nodded  Roger,  "  I  have  seen  yon  flaming 
keep  hung  round  with  hanged  men  ere  now  —  and  in  the 
dungeons  beneath  —  I  have  seen  —  God  forgive  me,  what 
I  have  seen !  Pla  !  Burn,  accursed  walls,  burn  !  Full  many 
shall  rejoice  in  thy  ruin,  as  I  do  —  lorn  women  and  father- 
less children  —  fair  women  ravished  of  life  and  honour !  " 

"  Aye,"  cried  Giles,  "  and  lovely  ladies  brought  to 
shame !     So,  Garthlaxton  —  smoke !  " 

"  And,"  quoth  frowning  Walkyn,  "  I  would  that  Per- 
tolepe's  rank  carcass  smoked  with  thee !  " 

"  Content  you,  my  gentle  Walkyn,"  nodded  the  archer, 
*'  hell-fire  shall  have  him  yet,  and  groweth  ever  hotter 
against  the  day  —  content  you.  So  away  with  melan- 
choly, be  blithe  and  merry  as  I  am  and  the  sweet-voiced 
throstles  yonder  —  the  wanton  rogues  !  Ha  ?  by  Saint 
Giles!  See  where  our  youthful,  god-like  brother  rideth, 
his  brow  as  gloomy  as  his  hair  is  bright  — " 

"  Ah,"  muttered  Roger,  "  he  grieveth  yet  for  Beda  the 
Jester  —  and  he  but  a  Fool !  " 

"  Yet  a  man-like  fool,  methinks !  "  quoth  the  archer. 
*'  But  for  our  tall  brother  now,  he  is  changed  these  latter 
days :  he  groweth  harsh,  methinks,  and  something  ungentle 
at  times."  And  Giles  thoughtfully  touched  his  arm  with 
tentative  fingers. 

"  Why,  the  torment  is  apt  to  change  a  man,"  said 
Walkyn,  grim-smiling.     "  I  have  tried  it  and  I  know." 

Now  hereupon  Giles  fell  to  whistling,  Walkyn  to  silence 
and  Roger  to  scowling;  oft  looking  back,  jealous-eyed,  to 


240  Beltane  the  Smith 

where  Beltane  rode  a  black  war-horse,  his  mail-coif  thrown 
back,  his  chin  upon  his  breast,  his  eyes  gloomy  and  wistful ; 
and  as  often  as  he  looked,  Roger  sighed  amain.  Whereat 
at  last  the  archer  cried: 

"Good  lack,  Roger,  and  wherefore  puff  ye  so?  Why 
glower  3^e,  man,  and  snort?  " 

"  Snort  thyself !  "  growled  Roger. 

"  Nay,  I  had  rather  talk." 

"  I  had  rather  be  silent." 

"  Excellent,  Roger ;  so  will  I  talk  for  thee  and  me. 
First  will  I  show  three  excellent  reasons  for  happiness  — 
videlicet:  the  birds  sing,  I  talk,  and  Garthlaxton  burns." 

"  I  would  thou  did'st  burn  with  it,"  growled  Roger. 
"  But  here  is  a  deed  shall  live  when  thou  and  I  are  dust, 
archer !  " 

"  Verily,  good  Roger,  for  here  and  now  will  I  make  a 
song  on't  for  souls  unborn  to  sing  —  a  good  song  with  a 
lilt  to  trip  it  lightly  on  the  tongue,  as  thus : 

"  How  Beltane  burned  Garthlaxton  low. 
With  lusty  Giles,  whose  good  yew  bow 
Sped  many  a  caitiff  rogue,  I  trow. 
Dixit!  " 

"  How !  "  exclaimed  Roger,  "  here  be  two  whole  lines 
to  thy  knavish  self  and  but  one  to  our  master?  " 

"  Aye,"  grumbled  Walkyn,  "  and  what  of  Roger  ?  — 
what  of  me  ?  —  we  were  there  also,  methinks  ?  " 

"  Nay,  show  patience,"  said  Giles,  "  we  will  amend  that 
in  the  next  triplet,  thus: 

"  There  Roger  fought,  and  Walkyn  too. 
And  Giles  that  bare  the  bow  of  yew; 
O  swift  and  strong  his  arrows  flew. 

Dixit!  " 

"  How  think  ye  of  that,  now?  " 

"  I  think,  here  is  too  much  Giles,"  said  Roger. 

"  Forsooth,  and  say  ye  so  indeed?  Let  us  then  to  an- 
other verse: 


How  Giles  Made  a  Merry  Song     241 

"  Walkyn  a  mighty  axe  did  sway. 
Black  Roger's  sword  some  few  did  slay. 
Yet  Giles  slew  many  more  than  they. 
Dixit!  " 

"  Here  now,  we  have  each  one  his  line  apiece,  which  is 
fair  —  and  the  lines  trip  it  commendingly,  how  think  ye?  " 

"  I  think  it  a  lie !  "  growled  Roger. 

"  Aye  me !  "  sighed  the  archer,  "  thou'rt  fasting,  Roger- 
kin,  and  an  empty  belly  ever  giveth  thee  an  ill  tongue. 
Yet  for  thy  behoof  my  song  shall  be  ended,  thus : 

"  They  gave  Garthlaxton  to  the  flame, 
Be  glory  to  Duke  Beltane's  name. 
And  unto  lusty  Giles  the  same. 
Dixit!  " 

"  Par  Dex!  "  he  broke  off,  "  here  is  a  right  good  song  for 
thee,  trolled  forth  upon  this  balmy-breathing  morn  sweet 
as  any  merle ;  a  song  for  thee  and  me  to  sing  to  our  chil- 
dren one  day,  mayhap  —  so  come,  rejoice,  my  rueful 
Rogerkin  —  smile,  for  to-day  I  sing  and  Garthlaxton  is 
ablaze." 

"  And  my  master  grieveth  for  a  Fool !  "  growled  sulky 
Roger,  "  and  twenty  and  two  good  men  slain." 

"Why,  see  you,  Roger,  here  is  good  cause  for  rejoic- 
ing also,  for,  our  youthful  Ajax  grieving  for  a  dead  Fool, 
it  standeth  to  reason  he  shall  better  love  a  live  one  — 
and  thou  wert  ever  a  fool,  Roger  —  so  born  and  so  bred. 
As  for  our  comrades  slain,  take  ye  comfort  in  this,  we  shall 
divide  their  share  of  plunder,  and  in  this  thought  is  a 
world  of  solace.  Remembering  the  which,  I  gathered  unto 
myself  divers  pretty  toys  —  you  shall  hear  them  sweetly 
a-j ingle  in  my  fardel  here.  As,  item:  a  silver  crucifix, 
very  artificiall}^  wrought  and  set  with  divers  gems  —  a 
pretty  piece !  Item :  a  golden  girdle  from  the  East  —  very 
sweet  and  rare.  Item :  four  silver  candlesticks  —  heavy, 
Roger!  Item:  a  gold  hilted  dagger  —  a  notable  trinket. 
Item  — " 


242  Beltane  the  Smith 

A  sudden  shout  from  the  vanward,  a  crashing  in  the  un- 
derbrush beside  the  way,  a  shrill  cry,  and  three  or  four 
of  Eric's  ragged  rogues  appeared  dragging  a  woman  be- 
twixt them,  at  sight  of  whom  the  air  was  filled  with  fierce 
shouts  and  cries. 

"The  witch!  Ha!  'Tis  the  witch  of  Hangstone 
Waste!  To  the  water  with  the  hag!  Nay,  burn  her! 
Burn  her ! " 

"  Aye,"  cried  Roger,  pushing  forward,  "  there's  nought 
like  the  fire  for  your  devils  or  demons !  " 

Quoth  the  archer: 

"  In  nomen  Dommum  —  Holy  Saint  Giles,  'tis  a  comely 
maid !  " 

"  Foul  daughter  of  an  accursed  dam !  "  quoth  Roger, 
spitting  and  drawing  a  cross  in  the  dust  with  his  bow- 
stave. 

"  With  the  eyes  of  an  angel !  "  said  Giles,  pushing  nearer 
where  stood  a  maid  young  and  shapely,  trembling  in  the 
close  grasp  of  one  Gurth,  a  ragged,  red-haired  giant,  whose 
glowing  eyes  stared  lustfully  upon  her  ripe  young 
beauty. 

"'Tis  Mellent!"  cried  the  fellow.  " 'Tis  the  witch's 
daughter  that  hath  escaped  me  thrice  by  deviltry  and 
witchcraft  — " 

"  Nay  —  nay,"  panted  the  maid  'twixt  pallid  lips, 
"  nought  am  I  but  a  poor  maid  gathering  herbs  and  sim- 
ples for  my  mother.     Ah,  show  pity  — " 

"  Witch !  "  roared  a  score  of  voices,  "  Witch !  " 

"  Not  so,  in  sooth  —  in  very  sooth,"  she  gasped  'twixt 
sobs  of  terror,  "  nought  but  a  poor  maid  am  I  —  and  the 
man  thrice  sought  me  out  and  would  have  shamed  me  but 
that  I  escaped,  for  that  I  am  very  swift  of  foot — " 

"  She  lured  me  into  the  bog  with  devil-fires !  "  cried 
Gurth. 

"  And  would  thou  had'st  rotted  there !  "  quoth  Giles  o' 
the  Bow,  edging  nearer.  Now  hereupon  the  maid  turned 
and  looked  at  Giles  through  the  silken  curtain  of  her 
black  and  glossy  hair,  and  beholding  the  entreaty  of  that 


How  Giles  Made  a  Merry  Song     243 

look,  the  virginal  purity  of  those  wide  blue  eyes,  the 
archer  stood  awed  and  silent,  his  comely  face  grew  red, 
grew  pale  —  then,  out  flashed  his  dagger  and  he  crouched 
to  spring  on  Gurth;  but,  of  a  sudden.  Beltane  rode  in 
between,  at  whose  coming  a  shout  went  up  and  thereafter 
a  silence  fell.  But  now  at  sight  of  Beltane,  the  witch- 
maid  uttered  a  strange  cry,  and  shrinking  beneath  his 
look,  crouched  upon  her  knees  and  spake  in  strange,  hushed 
accents. 

"  Messire,"  she  whispered,  "  mine  eyes  do  tell  me  thou 
art  the  lord  Beltane  !  " 

"  Aye,  'tis  so." 

"  Ah !  "  she  cried,  "  now  glory  be  and  thanks  to  God 
that  I  do  see  thee  hale  and  well !  "  So  saying,  she  shiv- 
ered and  covered  her  face.  Now  while  Beltane  yet  stared, 
amazed  by  her  saying,  the  bushes  parted  near  by  and  a 
hooded  figure  stepped  forth  silent  and  soft  of  foot,  at  sight 
of  whom  all  men  gave  back  a  pace,  and  Roger,  trembling, 
drew  a  second  cross  in  the  dust  with  his  bow-stave,  what 
time  a  shout  went  up : 

"Ha!  —  the  Witch — 'tis  the  witch  of  Hangstone 
Waste  herself !  " 

Very  still  she  stood,  looking  round  upon  them  all  with 
eyes  that  glittered  'neath  the  shadow  of  her  hood;  and 
when  at  last  she  spake,  her  voice  was  rich  and  sweet  to 
hear. 

"  Liar !  "  she  said,  and  pointed  at  Gurth  a  long,  white 
finger,  "  unhand  her,  liar,  lest  thou  wither,  flesh  and  bone, 
body  and  soul !  "  Now  here,  once  again,  men  gave  back 
cowering  'neath  her  glance,  while  Roger  crossed  himself 
devoutly. 

"  The  evil  eye !  "  he  muttered  'twixt  chattering  teeth, 
"  cross  thy  fingers,  Giles,  lest  she  blast  thee !  "  But  Gurth 
shook  his  head  and  laughed  aloud. 

"Fools!"  he  cried,  "do  ye  forget?  No  witch  hath 
power  i'  the  sun !  She  can  work  no  evil  i'  the  sunshine. 
Seize  her !  — 'tis  an  accursed  hag  —  seize  her !  Bring  her 
to  the  water  and  see  an  she  can  swim  with  a  stone  at  her 


2  44  Beltane  the  Smith 

hag's  neck.  All  witches  are  powerless  by  day.  See,  thus 
I  spit  upon  and  defy  her !  " 

Now  hereupon  a  roar  of  anger  went  up  and,  for  that 
they  had  feared  her  before,  so  now  grew  they  more  fierce; 
a  score  of  eager  hands  dragged  at  her,  hands  that  rent 
her  cloak,  that  grasped  with  cruel  fingers  at  her  long  grey 
hair,  bending  her  this  way  and  that;  but  she  uttered  no 
groan  nor  complaint,  only  the  maid  cried  aloud  most  piti- 
ful to  hear,  whereat  Giles,  dagger  in  hand,  pushed  and 
strove  to  come  at  Gurth.  Then  Beltane  alighted  from 
his  horse  and  parting  the  throng  with  mailed  hands,  stood 
within  the  circle  and  looking  round  upon  them  laughed, 
and  his  laugh  was  harsh  and  bitter. 

"  Forsooth,  and  must  ye  war  with  helpless  women,  O 
men  of  Pentavalon?"  quoth  he,  and  laughed  again  right 
scornfully ;  whereat  those  that  held  the  witch  relaxed  their 
hold  and  fain  would  justify  themselves. 

"  She  is  a  witch  —  a  cursed  witch !  "  they  cried. 

"  She  is  a  woman,"  says  Beltane. 

*'  Aye  —  a  devil-woman  —  a  notable  witch  —  we  know 
her  of  old !  " 

"  Verily,"  cried  one,  "  'tis  but  a  sennight  since  she 
plagued  me  with  aching  teeth  — " 

"  And  me  with  an  ague !  "  cried  another. 

"  She  bewitched  my  shafts  that  they  all  flew  wide  o'  the 
mark  !  "  cried  a  third. 

"  She  cast  on  me  a  spell  whereby  I  nigh  did  perish  i' 
the  fen  — " 

"  She  is  a  hag  —  she's  demon-rid  and  shall  to  the  fire !  " 
they   shouted  amain.     "  Ha !  —  witch !  —  witch  !  " 

*'  That  doeth  no  man  harm  by  day,"  said  Beltane,  "  so 
by  day  shall  no  man  harm  her  — " 

"  Aye,  lord,"  quoth  Roger,  "  but  how  by  night?  'tis  by 
night  she  may  work  her  spells  and  blast  any  that  she  will, 
or  haunt  them  with  goblins  damned  that  they  do  run  mad, 
or—" 

"  Enough ! "  cried  Beltane  frowning,  "  on  me  let  her 
bewitchments  fall;  thus,  see  you,  an  I  within  this  next 


How  Giles  Made  a  Merry  Song     245 

week  wither  and  languish  'neath  her  spells,  then  let  her 
burn  an  ye  will:  but  until  this  flesh  doth  shrivel  on  these 
my  bones,  no  man  shall  do  her  hurt.  So  now  let  there  be 
an  end  —  free  these  women,  let  your  ranks  be  ordered,  and 
march  — " 

"  Comrades  all !  "  cried  red-haired  Gurth,  "  will  ye  be 
slaves  henceforth  to  this  girl-faced  youth?  We  have  arms 
now  and  rich  booty.  Let  us  back  to  the  merry  green- 
wood, where  all  men  are  equal  —  come,  let  us  be  gone,  and 
take  these  witches  with  us  to  our  sport  — " 

But  in  this  moment  Beltane  turned. 

"  Girl- faced,  quotha?  "  he  cried;  and  beholding  his  look, 
Gurth  of  a  sudden  loosed  the  swooning  maid  and,  drawing 
sword,  leapt  and  smote  at  Beltane's  golden  head ;  but  Bel- 
tane caught  the  blow  in  his  mailed  hand,  and  snapped  the 
blade  in  sunder,  and,  seizing  Gurth  about  the  loins,  whirled 
him  high  in  air ;  then,  while  all  men  blenched  and  held  their 
breath  waiting  the  thud  of  his  broken  body  in  the  dust. 
Beltane  stayed  and  set  him  down  upon  his  feet.  And  lo ! 
Gurth's  cheek  was  pale,  his  eye  wide  and  vacant,  and  his 
soul  sat  numbed  within  him.  So  Beltane  took  him  by  the 
throat,  and,  laughing  fierce,  shook  him  to  and  fro. 

"  Beast !  "  said  he,  "  unfit  art  thou  to  march  with  these 
my  comrades.  Now  therefore  do  I  cast  thee  out.  Take 
thy  life  and  go,  and  let  any  follow  thee  that  will  — 
Pentavalon  needeth  not  thy  kind.  Get  thee  from  among 
us,  empty-handed  as  I  found  thee  —  thy  share  of  treasure 
shall  go  to  better  men !  " 

Now  even  as  Beltane  spake,  Gurth's  red  head  sank  until 
his  face  was  hidden  within  his  hands ;  strong  hands,  that 
slowly  clenched  themselves  into  anger-trembling  fists.  And 
ever  as  Beltane  spake,  the  witch,  tossing  back  her  long 
grey  hair,  looked  and  looked  on  him  with  bright  and  eager 
eyes ;  a  wondering  look,  quick  to  note  his  shape  and  goodly 
size,  his  wide  blue  eyes,  his  long  and  golden  hair  and  the 
proud,  high  carriage  of  his  head :  and  slowly,  to  her  won- 
derment came  awe  and  growing  joy.  But  Beltane  spake 
on  unheeding: 


246 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Thou  dost  know  me  for  a  hunted  man  with  a  price 
upon  my  head,  but  thou  art  thing  so  poor  thy  death  can 
pleasure  no  man.  So  take  thy  hfe  and  get  thee  hence, 
but  come  not  again,  for  in  that  same  hour  will  I  hang  thee 
in  a  halter  —  go !  "  So,  with  drooping  head,  Gurth  of  the 
red  hair  turned  him  about,  and  plunging  into  the  green, 
was  gone ;  then  Beltane  looked  awhile  upon  the  others  that 
stood  shifting  on  their  feet,  and  with  never  a  word  be- 
twixt them. 

"  Comrades,"  quoth  he,  "  mighty  deeds  do  lie  before 
us  —  such  works  as  only  true  men  may  achieve.  And 
what  is  a  man?  A  man,  methinks,  is  he,  that,  when  he 
speaketh,  speaketh  ever  from  his  heart;  that,  being  quick 
to  hate  all  evil  actions,  is  quicker  to  forgive,  and  who,  fear- 
ing neither  ghost  nor  devil,  spells  nor  witchcraft,  dread- 
eth  only  dishonour,  and  thus,  living  without  fear,  he  with- 
out fear  may  die.  So  now  God  send  we  all  be  men,  my 
brothers.  To  your  files  there  —  pikes  to  the  front  and 
rear,  bows  to  the  flanks  —  forward !  " 

But  now,  as  with  a  ring  and  clash  and  tramp  of  feet 
the  ragged  company  fell  into  rank  and  order,  the  witch- 
woman  came  swiftly  beside  Beltane  and,  touching  him  not, 
spake  softly  in  his  ear. 

"  Beltane  —  Beltane,  lord  Duke  of  Pentavalon !  " 
Now  hereupon  Beltane  started,  and  turning,  looked  upon 
her  grave-eyed. 

"  What  would  ye,  woman  ?  "  he  questioned, 

*'  Born  wert  thou  of  a  mother  chaste  as  fair,  true  wife 
unto  the  Duke  thy  father  —  a  woman  sweet  and  holy  who 
liveth  but  to  the  good  of  others :  yet  was  brother  slain  by 
brother,  and  thou  baptised  in  blood  ere  now  !  " 

"  Woman,"  quoth  he,  his  strong  hands  a-tremble,  "  who 
art  thou  —  what  knowest  thou  of  my  —  mother.'' 
Speak ! " 

"  Not  here,  my  lord  —  but,  an  thou  would'st  learn  more, 
come  unto  Hangstone  Waste  at  the  full  o'  the  moon,  stand 
you  where  the  death-stone  stands,  that  some  do  call  the 
White  Morte-stone.     There  shalt  thou  learn  many  things, 


How  Giles  Made  a  Merry  Song     247 

perchance.  Thou  hast  this  day  saved  a  witch  from  cruel 
death  and  a  lowly  beggar-maid  from  shame.  A  witch !  A 
beggar-maid!  The  times  be  out  a  joint,  methinks.  Yet, 
witch  and  beggar,  do  we  thank  thee,  lord  Duke.  Fare  thee 
well  —  until  the  full  o'  the  moon !  "  So  spake  she,  and 
clasping  the  young  maid  within  her  arm  they  passed  into 
the  brush  and  so  were  gone. 

Now  while  Beltane  stood  yet  pondering  her  words,  came 
Roger  to  his  side,  to  touch  him  humbly  on  the  arm. 

"  Lord,"  said  he,  "  be  not  beguiled  by  yon  foul  witches' 
arts :  go  not  to  Hangstone  Waste  lest  she  be-devil  thee 
with  goblins  or  transform  thee  to  a  loathly  toad.  Thou 
wilt  not  go,  master?  " 

"  At  the  full  o'  the  moon,  Roger !  " 

"  Why  then,"  muttered  Roger  gulping,  and  clenching 
trembling  hands,  "  we  must  needs  be  plague-smitten,  blasted 
and  everlastingly  damned,  for  needs  must  I  go  with  thee." 

Very  soon  pike  and  bow  and  gisarm  fell  into  array ;  the 
pack-horses  stumbled  forward,  the  dust  rose  upon  the 
warm,  still  air.  Now  as  they  strode  along  with  ring  and 
clash  and  the  sound  of  voice  and  laughter,  came  Giles  to 
walk  at  Beltane's  stirrup ;  and  oft  he  glanced  back  along 
the  way  and  oft  he  sighed,  a  thing  most  rare  in  him ;  at 
last  he  spake,  and  dolefully : 

"  Witchcraft  is  forsooth  a  deadly  sin,  tall  brother?  " 

"  Verily,  Giles,  yet  there  be  worse,  methinks." 

"  Worse !  Ha,  'tis  true,  'tis  very  true !  "  nodded  the 
archer.  "  And  then,  forsooth,  shall  the  mother's  sin  cleave 
unto  the  daughter  —  and  she  so  wondrous  fair?  The 
saints  forbid."  Now  hereupon  the  archer's  gloom  was 
lifted  and  he  strode  along  singing  softly  'neath  his  breath ; 
yet,  in  a  while  he  frowned,  sudden  and  fierce :  "  As  for 
that  foul  knave  Gurth  —  ha,  methinks  I  had  been  wiser  to 
slit  his  roguish  weasand,  for  'tis  in  my  mind  he  may  live 
to  discover  our  hiding  place  to  our  foes,  and  perchance 
bring  down  Red  Pertolepe  to  Hundleby  Fen." 

"  In  truth,"  said  Beltane,  slow  and  thoughtful,  **  so  do 
I  think ;  'twas  for  this  I  spared  his  life." 


248  Beltane  the  Smith 

Now  here  Giles  the  Archer  turned  and  stared  upon 
Beltane  with  jaws  agape,  and  fain  he  would  have  ques- 
tioned further,  but  Beltane's  gloomy  brow  forbade;  yet 
oft  he  looked  askance  at  that  golden  head,  and  oft  he 
sighed  and  shook  his  own,  what  time  they  marched  out  of 
the  golden  glare  of  morning  into  the  dense  green  depths  of 
the  forest. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

HOW    BELTANE    MET    WITH    A    YOUTHFUIi    KNIGHT 

Now  at  this  time  the  fame  of  Beltane's  doing  went  through- 
out the  Duchy,  insomuch  that  divers  and  many  were  they 
that  sought  him  out  within  the  green;  masterless  men, 
serfs  new-broke  from  thraldom,  desperate  fellows  beyond 
the  law,  thieves  and  rogues  in  dire  jeopardy  of  life  or  limb : 
off-scourings,  these,  of  camp  and  town  and  village,  hither 
come  seeking  shelter  with  Beltane  in  the  wild  wood,  and 
eager  for  his  service. 

In  very  truth,  a  turbulent  company  this,  prone  to  swift 
quarrel  and  deadly  brawl;  but,  at  these  times,  fiercer  than 
any  was  Walkyn  o'  the  Axe,  grimmer  than  any  was  Roger 
the  Black,  whereas  Giles  was  quick  as  his  tongue  and  Eric 
cahn  and  resolute :  four  mighty  men  were  these,  but  might- 
ier than  all  was  Beltane.  Wherefore  at  this  time  Beltane 
set  himself  to  bring  order  from  chaos  and  to  teach  these 
wild  men  the  virtues  of  obedience ;  but  here  indeed  was  a 
hard  matter,  for  these  were  lawless  men  and  very  fierce 
withal.  But  upon  a  morning,  ere  the  sun  had  chased  the 
rosy  mists  into  marsh  and  fen.  Beltane  strode  forth  from 
the  cave  wherein  he  slept,  and  lifting  the  hunting  horn  he 
bare  about  his  neck,  sounded  it  fierce  and  shrill.  Whereon 
rose  a  sudden  uproar,  and  out  from  their  caves,  from  sleep- 
ing-places hollowed  w^ithin  the  rocks,  stumbled  his  ragged 
following  —  an  unordered  rabblement,  half-naked,  un- 
armed, that  ran  hither  and  thither,  shouting  and  rubbing 
sleep  from  their  eyes,  or  stared  fearfully  upon  the  dawn. 
Anon  Beltane  sounded  again,  whereat  they,  beholding 
him,  came  thronging  about  him  and  questioned  him 
eagerly  on  all  sides,  as  thus : 

"  Master,  are  we  attacked  forsooth.''  " 


250  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Is  the  Red  Pertolepe  upon  us?  " 

"  Lord,  what  shall  we  do  — ?  " 

"  Lead  us,  master  —  lead  us  !  " 

Then,  looking  upon  their  wild  disorder,  Beltane  laughed 
for  scorn :  — 

"  Rats !  "  quoth  he,  "  O  rats  —  is  it  thus  ye  throng  to 
the  slaughter,  then?  Were  I  in  sooth  Red  Pertolepe  with 
but  a  score  at  my  back  I  had  slain  ye  all  ere  sun-up ! 
Where  be  your  out-posts  —  where  be  your  sentinels?  Are 
ye  so  eager  to  kick  within  a  hangman's  noose?" 

Now  hereupon  divers  growled  or  muttered  threaten- 
ingly, while  others,  yawning,  would  have  turned  them  back 
to  sleep ;  but  striding  among  them,  Beltane  stayed  them 
with  voice  and  hand  —  and  voice  was  scornful  and  hand 
was  heavy:  moreover,  beside  him  stood  Roger  and  Giles, 
with  Walkyn  and  Eric  of  the  wry  neck. 

"  Fools !  "  he  cried,  "  for  that  Pentavalon  doth  need 
men,  so  now  must  I  teach  ye  other  ways.  Fall  to  your 
ranks  there  —  ha !  scowl  and  ye  will  but  use  well  your  ears 
—  mark  me,  now.  But  two  nights  ago  we  burned  down 
my  lord  Duke's  great  castle  of  Garthlaxton :  think  you  my 
lord  Duke  will  not  seek  vengeance  dire  upon  these  our 
bodies  therefore?  Think  ye  the  Red  Pertolepe  will  not  be 
eager  for  our  blood?  But  yest're'en,  when  I  might  have 
slain  yon  knavish  Gurth,  I  suffered  him  to  go  —  and 
wherefore?  For  that  Gurth,  being  at  heart  a  traitor  and 
rogue  ingrain,  might  straightway  hie  him  to  the  Duke  at 
Barham  Broom  with  offers  to  guide  his  powers  hither. 
But  when  they  be  come,  his  chivalry  and  heavy  armed  foot 
here  within  the  green,  then  will  we  fire  the  woods  about 
them  and  from  every  point  of  vantage  beset  them  with  our 
arrows  — " 

"  Ha !  Bows  —  bows  !  "  cried  Giles,  tossing  up  his  bow- 
stave  and  catching  it  featly  — "  Oho !  tall  brother  —  fair 
lord  Duke,  here  is  a  sweet  and  notable  counsel.  Ha,  bows  ! 
Hey  for  bows  and  bills  i'  the  merry  greenwood !  " 

"  So,  perceive  me,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  thus  shall  the  hunt- 
ers  peradventure  become   the  hunted,   for,  an  Duke  Ivo 


How  Beltane  Met  With  a  Knight      251 

come,  'tis  like  enough  he  ne'er  shall  win  free  of  our  ring 
of  fire."  Now  from  these  long  and  ragged  ranks  a  buzz 
arose  that  swelled  and  swelled  to  a  fierce  shout. 

"The  fire!"  they  cried.  "Ha,  to  bum  them  i'  the 
fire!" 

"  But  so  to  do,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  rats  must  become 
wolves.  Valiant  men  ye  are  I  know,  yet  are  ye  but  a  poor 
unordered  rabblement,  meet  for  slaughter.  So  now  will 
I  teach  ye,  how  here  within  the  wild-wood  we  may  withstand 
Black  Ivo  and  all  his  powers.  Giles,  bring  now  the  book  of 
clean  parchment  I  took  from  Garthlaxton,  together  with 
pens  and  ink-horn,  and  it  shall  be  henceforth  a  record  of 
us  every  one,  our  names,  our  number,  and  the  good  or  ill 
we  each  one  do  achieve." 

So  there  and  then,  while  the  sun  rose  high  and  higher 
and  the  mists  of  dawn  thinned  and  vanished,  phantom- 
like, the  record  was  begun.  Two  hundred  and  twenty  and 
four  they  mustered,  and  the  name  of  each  and  every  Giles 
duly  wrote  down  within  the  book  in  right  fair  and  clerkly 
hand.  Thereafter  Beltane  numbered  them  into  four  com- 
panies; over  the  first  company  he  set  Walkyn,  over  the 
second  Giles,  over  the  third  Roger,  and  over  the  fourth 
Eric  of  the  wry  neck.  Moreover  he  caused  to  be  brought 
all  the  armour  they  had  won,  and  ordered  that  all  men 
should  henceforth  go  armed  from  head  to  foot,  yet  many 
there  were  that  needs  must  go  short  awhile. 

Now  he  ordained  these  four  companies  should  keep 
watch  and  watch  day  and  night  with  sentinels  and  out- 
posts in  the  green;  and  when  they  murmured  at  this  he 
stared  them  into  silence. 

"  Fools !  "  said  he,  "  an  ye  would  lie  secure,  so  must  ye 
watch  constantly  against  surprise.  And  furthermore  shall 
ye  exercise  daily  how,  at  the  spoke  command,  to  address 
your  pikes  'gainst  charge  of  horse  or  foot,  and  to  that 
company  adjudged  the  best  and  stoutest  will  I,  each  week, 
give  store  of  money  from  my  share  of  booty.  So  now, 
Walkyn,  summon  ye  your  company  and  get  to  your  ward." 

Thus  it  was  that  slowly  out  of  chaos  came  order,  yet  it 


252  Beltane  the  Smith 

came  not  unopposed,  for  many  and  divers  were  they  that 
growled  against  this  new  order  of  things ;  but  Beltane's 
hand  was  swift  and  heavy,  moreover,  remembering  how  he 
had  dealt  with  Tostig,  they  growled  amain  but  hasted  to 
obey.  So,  in  place  of  idleness  was  work,  and  instead  of 
quarrel  and  riot  was  peace  among  the  wild  men  and  a 
growing  content.  Insomuch  that  upon  a  certain  balmy 
eve,  Giles  the  Archer,  lolling  beside  the  fire  looking  upon 
Black  Roger,  who  sat  beside  him  furbishing  his  mail-shirt, 
spake  his  mind  on  this  wise: 

"Mark  ye  these  lamb-like  wolves  of  ours,  sweet  Roger .^ 
There  hath  been  no  blood-letting  betwixt  them  these  four 
days,  and  scarce  a  quarrel." 

Roger.  "  Aye,  this  comes  of  my  lord.  My  master 
hath  a  wondrous  tongue,  Giles." 

Giles.  "  My  brother-in-arms  hath  a  wondrous  strong 
fist,  Rogerkin  — " 

Roger.  "Thy  brother-in-arms,  archer?  Thine,  for- 
sooth!    Ha!" 

Giles.  "  Snort  not,  my  gentle  Roger,  for  I  fell  in 
company  with  him  ere  he  knew  aught  of  thee  —  so  thy 
snort  availeth  nothing,  my  Rogerkin.  Howbeit,  our  snarl- 
ing wolves  do  live  like  tender  lambs  these  days,  the  which 
doth  but  go  to  prove  how  blessed  a  thing  is  a  fist  —  a  fist, 
mark  you,  strong  to  strike,  big  to  buffet,  and  swift  to 
smite:  a  capable  fist,  Roger,  to  strike,  buffet  and  smite  a 
man  to  the  good  of  his  soul." 

Roger.  "  In  sooth  my  master  is  a  noble  knight,  ne'er 
shall  we  see  his  equal.  And  yet,  Giles,  methinks  he  doth 
mope  and  grieve  these  days.  He  groweth  pale-cheeked 
and  careworn,  harsh  of  speech  and  swift  to  anger.  Be- 
hold him  now !  "  and  Roger  pointed  to  where  Beltane  sat 
apart  (as  was  become  his  wont  of  late)  his  axe  betwixt 
his  knees,  square  chin  propped  upon  clenched  fist,  scowling 
into  the  fire  that  burned  before  his  sleeping-cave. 

"  Whence  cometh  the  so  great  change  in  him,  think  you, 
Giles?" 

"  For  that,  while  I  am  I  and  he  is  himself,  thou  art  but 


How  Beltane  Met  With  a  Knight      255 

what  thou  art,  my  Rogerkin  —  well  enough  after  thy 
fashion,  mayhap,  but  after  all  thou  art  only  thyself." 
"Ha!"  growled  Roger,  "and  what  of  thee,  archer?'* 
"  I  am  his  brother-in-arms,  Rogerkin,  and  so  know  him 
therefore  as  a  wondrous  lord,  a  noble  knight,  a  goodly 
youth  and  a  sweet  lad.  Some  day,  when  I  grow  too  old 
to  bear  arms,  I  will  to  pen  and  ink-horn  and  will  make  of 
him  a  ballade  that  shall,  mayhap,  outlive  our  time.  A 
notable  ballade,  something  on  this  wise :  — 

"Of  gentle  Beltane  I  will  tell, 

A  knight  who  did  all  knights  excel. 

Who  loved  of  all  men  here  below 

His  faithful  Giles  that  bare  the  bow; 

For  Giles  full  strong  and  straight  could  shoot, 

A  goodly  man  was  Giles  to  boot. 

A  lusty  fighter  sure  was  Giles 

In  counsel  sage  and  full  of  wiles. 

And  Giles  was  handsome,  Giles  was  young, 

And  Giles  he  had  a  merry  — 

*' How    now,    Roger,    man  —  wherefore    interrupt    me?" 
"  For  that  there  be  too  many  of  Giles  hereabouts,  and 
one  Giles  talketh  enough  for  twenty.     So  will  I  to  Walkyn 
that  seldom  talketh  enough  for  one." 

So  saying  Roger  arose,  donned  his  shirt  of  mail  and, 
buckling  his  sword  about  him,  strode  incontinent  away. 

And  in  a  while  Beltane  arose  also,  and  climbing  one  of 
the  many  precipitous  paths,  answered  the  challenge  of 
sentinel  and  outpost  and  went  on  slow-footed  as  one  heavy 
in  thought,  yet  with  eyes  quick  to  heed  how  thick  was  the 
underbrush  hereabouts  with  dead  wood  and  bracken  apt  to 
firing.  Before  him  rose  an  upland  crowned  by  a  belt  of 
mighty  forest  trees  and  beyond,  a  road,  or  rather  track, 
that  dipped  and  wound  away  into  the  haze  of  evening. 
Presently,  as  he  walked  beneath  this  leafy  twilight,  he  heard 
the  luring  sound  of  running  water,  and  turning  thither, 
laid  him  down  where  was  a  small  and  placid  pool,  for  he 
was  athirst.  But  as  he  stooped  to  drink,  he  started,  and 
thereafter  hung  above  this  pellucid  mirror  staring  down  at 


2  54  Beltane  the  Smith 

the  face  that  stared  up  at  him  with  eyes  agleam  'neath 
lowering  brows,  above  whose  close-knit  gloom  a  lock  of  hair 
gleamed  snow-white  amid  the  yellow.  Long  stayed  he 
thus,  to  mark  the  fierce  curve  of  nostril,  the  square  grim- 
ness  of  jaw  and  chin,  and  the  lips  that  met  in  a  harsh  line, 
■down-trending  and  relentless.  And  gazing  thus  upon  his 
image,  he  spake  beneath  his  breath: 

"  O  lady !  O  wilful  Helen !  thy  soft  white  hand  hath 
set  its  mark  upon  me ;  the  love-sick  youth  is  grown  a  man, 
meseemeth.  Well,  so  be  it !  "  Thus  saying,  he  laughed 
harshly  and  stooping,  drank  his  fill. 

Now  as  he  yet  lay  beside  the  brook  hearkening  to  its 
pretty  babel,  he  was  aware  of  another  sound  drawing 
nearer  —  the  slow  plodding  of  a  horse's  hoofs  upon  the 
road  below ;  and  glancing  whence  it  came  he  beheld  a  soli- 
tary knight  whose  mail  gleamed  'neath  a  rich  surcoat  and 
whose  shield  flamed  red  with  sunset.  While  Beltane  yet 
watched  this  solitary  rider,  behold  two  figures  that 
crouched  in  the  underbrush  growing  beside  the  way ; 
stealthy  figures,  that  flitted  from  tree  to  tree  and  bush  to 
"bush,  keeping  pace  with  the  slow-riding  horseman ;  and  as 
they  came  nearer.  Beltane  saw  that  these  men  who  crouched 
and  stole  so  swift  and  purposeful  were  Walkyn  and  Black 
Roger.  Near  and  nearer  they  drew,  the  trackers  and  the 
tracked,  till  they  were  come  to  a  place  where  the  under- 
brush fell  away  and  cover  there  was  none:  and  here,  very 
suddenly,  forth  leapt  Roger  with  Walkyn  at  his  heels ;  up 
reared  the  startled  horse,  and  thereafter  the  knight  was 
dragged  from  his  saddle  and  Walkyn's  terrible  axe  swung 
aloft  for  the  blow,  but  Black  Roger  turned  and  caught 
Walkyn's  arm  and  so  they  strove  together  furiously,  what 
time  the  knight  lay  out-stretched  upon  the  ling  and  stirred 
not. 

"  Ha !  Fool !  "  raged  Walkyn,  "  loose  my  arm  —  what 
would  3^e?  " 

"  Shalt  not  slay  him,"  cried  Roger,  "  'tis  a  notch  — 'tis 
a  notch  from  my  accursed  belt  —  shalt  not  slay  him,  I 
-tell  thee !  " 


How  Beltane  Met  With  a  Knight      255 

"  Now  out  upon  thee  for  a  mad  knave ! "  quoth 
Walkyn. 

"  Knave  thyself ! "  roared  Black  Roger,  and  so  they 
wrestled  fiercely  together ;  but,  little  by  little,  Walkyn's  size 
and  bull  strength  began  to  tell,  whereupon  back  sprang 
nimble  Roger,  and  as  Walkyn's  axe  gleamed,  so  gleamed 
Roger's  sword.  But  now  as  they  circled  warily  about  each 
other,  seeking  an  opening  for  blow  or  thrust,  there  came  a 
rush  of  feet,  and  Beltane  leapt  betwixt  them,  and  bestrid- 
ing the  fallen  knight,  fronted  them  in  black  and  bitter 
anger. 

"  Ha,  rogues !  "  he  cried,  "  art  become  thieves  and  mur- 
derers so  soon,  then?  Would'st  shed  each  other's  blood 
for  lust  of  booty  like  any  other  lawless  knaves,  forsooth? 
Shame  —  O  shame  on  ye  both !  " 

So  saying,  he  stooped,  and  lifting  the  unconscious 
knight,  flung  him  across  his  shoulder  and  strode  oJfF,  leav- 
ing the  twain  to  stare  upon  each  other  shame-faced. 

Scowling  and  fierce-eyed  Beltane  descended  into  the 
hollow,  whereupon  up  sprang  Giles  with  divers  others  and 
would  have  looked  upon  and  aided  with  the  captive;  but 
beholding  Beltane's  frown  they  stayed  their  questions  and 
stood  from  his  path.  So  came  he  to  a  certain  cave  hol- 
lowed within  the  hill-side  —  one  of  many  such  —  but  the 
rough  walls  of  this  cave  Black  Roger  had  adorned  with  a 
rich  arras,  and  had  prepared  also  a  bed  of  costly  furs ; 
here  Beltane  laid  the  captive,  and  sitting  within  the  mouth 
of  the  cave  —  beyond  which  a  fire  burned  —  fell  to  scowl- 
ing at  the  flame.  And  presently  as  he  sat  thus  came 
Roger  and  Walkyn,  who  fain  would  have  made  their  peace, 
but  Beltane  fiercely  bade  them  to  begone, 

"  Lord,"  quoth  Walkyn,  fumbling  with  his  axe,  "  we 
found  this  knight  hard  by,  so,  lest  he  should  disclose  the 
secret  of  this  our  haven  —  I  would  have  slain  him  — " 

"  Master,"  said  Roger,  "  'tis  true  I  had  a  mind  to  his 
horse  and  armour,  since  we  do  such  things  lack,  yet  would  I 
have  saved  him  alive  and  cut  from  my  belt  another  ac- 
cursed notch  — " 


256 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  So  art  thou  a  fool,  Roger,"  quoth  Walkyn,  "  for  an 
this  knight  live,  this  our  refuge  is  secret  no  longer." 

"  Ha !  "  sneered  Beltane,  "  what  matter  for  that  an  it 
shelter  but  murderers  and  thieving  knaves  — " 

"  Dost  name  me  murderer?  "  growled  Walkyn. 

"  And  me  a  thief,  master.''  "  sighed  Roger,  "  I  that  am 
thy  man,  that  would  but  have  borrowed — " 

"  Peace !  "  cried  Beltane,  "  hence  —  begone,  and  leave 
me  to  my  thoughts ! "  Hereupon  Walkyn  turned  and 
strode  away,  twirling  his  axe,  but  Roger  went  slow-footed 
and  with  head  a-droop  what  time  Beltane  frowned  into  the 
fire,  his  scowl  blacker  than  ever.  But  as  he  sat  thus,  from 
the  gloom  of  the  cave  behind  him  a  voice  spake  —  a  soft 
voice  and  low,  at  sound  whereof  he  started  and  turned  him 
about. 

"  Meseemeth  thy  thoughts  are  evil,  messire." 

"  Of  a  verity,  sir  knight :  for  needs  must  I  think  of 
women  and  the  ways  of  women!  To-night  am  I  haunted 
of  bitter  memory." 

Now  of  a  sudden,  the  stranger  knight  beholding  Bel- 
tane in  the  light  of  the  fire,  started  up  to  his  elbow  to 
stare  and  stare ;  then  quailing,  shivering,  shrank  away, 
hiding  his  face  within  his  mailed  hands.  Whereat  spake 
Beltane  in  amaze: 

"How  now,  sir  knight  —  art  sick  in  faith?  Dost  ail 
of  some  wound  — ?  " 

"  Not  so  —  ah,  God  !  not  so.  Those  fetters  —  upon 
thy  wrists,  messire  — ?  " 

"  Alack,  sir  knight,"  laughed  Beltane,  "  and  is  it  my 
looks  afflict  thee  so?  'Tis  true  we  be  wild  rogues  here- 
about, evil  company  for  gentle  knights.  Amongst  us  ye 
shall  find  men  new  broke  from  the  gallows-foot  and  desper- 
ate knaves  for  whom  the  dungeon  yawns.  As  for  me, 
these  gyves  upon  my  wrists  were  riveted  there  by  folly,  for 
fool  is  he  that  trusteth  to  woman  and  the  ways  of  woman. 
So  will  I  wear  them  henceforth  until  my  work  be  done  to 
mind  me  of  my  folly  and  of  one  I  loved  so  much  I  would 
that  she  had  died  ere  that  she  slew  my  love  for  her." 


How  Beltane  Met  With  a  Knight      257 

Thus  spake  Beltane  staring  ever  into  the  fire,  joying  bit- 
terly to  voice  his  grief  unto  this  strange  knight  who  had 
risen  softly  and  now  stood  upon  the  other  side  of  the  fire. 
And  looking  upon  him  in  a  while,  Beltane  saw  that  he  was 
but  a  youth,  slender  and  shapely  in  his  rich  surcoat  and 
costly  mail,  the  which,  laced  close  about  cheek  and  chin, 
showed  Httle  of  his  face  below  the  gleaming  bascinet,  yet 
that  little  smooth-skinned  and  pale. 

"  Sir  knight,"  said  Beltane,  "  free  art  thou  to  go  hence, 
nor  shall  any  stay  or  spoil  thee.  Yet  first,  hear  this: 
thou  art  perchance  some  roving  knight  seeking  adventure 
to  the  glory  and  honour  of  some  fair  lady.  O  folly ! 
choose  you  something  more  worthy  —  a  hbrse  is  a  noble 
beast,  and  dogs,  they  say,  are  faithful.  But  see  you,  a 
woman's  love  is  a  pitiful  thing  at  best,  while  dogs  and 
horses  be  a-plenty.  Give  not  thine  heart  into  a  woman's 
hand  lest  she  tear  it  in  her  soft,  white  fingers :  set  not  thine 
honour  beneath  her  shapely  feet,  lest  she  tread  it  into  the 
shameful  mire.  So  fare  thee  well,  sir  knight.  God  go 
with  thee  and  keep  thee  ever  from  the  love  of  woman !  " 

So  saying  Beltane  rose,  and  lifting  the  bugle-horn 
he  wore,  sounded  it;  whereon  came  all  and  sundry,  run- 
ning and  with  weapons  brandished  —  but  Roger  first  of 
all. 

To  all  of  whom  Beltane  spake  thus: 

"  Behold  here  this  gentle  knight  our  guest  is  for  the 
nonce  —  entreat  him  courteously  therefore ;  give  him  all 
that  he  doth  lack  and  thereafter  set  him  upon  his  way  — " 

But  hereupon  divers  cast  evil  looks  upon  the  knight, 
murmuring  among  themselves  —  and  loudest  of  all  Wal- 
kyn. 

"  He  knoweth  the  secret  of  our  hiding-place !  " 

"  'Tis  said  he  knoweth  the  causeway  through  the  fen !  '* 

"  He  will  betray  us !  " 

"Dogs!"  said  Beltane,  clenching  his  hands,  "will  ye 
defy  me  then.''  I  say  this  knight  shall  go  hence  and  none 
withstand  him.     Make  way,  then  —  or  must  I.'*  " 

But  now  spake  the  youthful  knight  his  gaze  still  bent 


2s8 


Beltane  the  Smith 


upon  the  flame,  nor  seemed  he  to  heed  the  fierce  faces  and 
eager  steel  that  girt  him  round. 

"  Nay,  messire,  for  here  methinks  my  quest  is  ended ! " 

"Thy  quest,  sir  knight  —  how  so?" 

Then  the  knight  turned  and  looked  upon  Beltane. 
Quoth  he: 

"  By  thy  size  and  knightly  gear,  by  thy  —  thy  yellow 
hair,  methinks  thou  art  Beltane,  son  of  Beltane  the 
Strong?  » 

"  Verily,  'tis  so  that  I  am  called.  What  would  you 
of  me?  " 

"  This,  messire."  Herewith  the  stranger  knight  loosed 
belt  and  surcoat  and  drew  forth  a  long  sword  whose 
broad  blade  glittered  in  the  firelight,  and  gave  its  massy 
hilt  to  Beltane's  grasp.  And,  looking  upon  its  shining 
blade.  Beltane  beheld  the  graven  legend  "  Resurgam." 

Now  looking  upon  this.  Beltane  drew  a  deep,  slow  breath 
and  turned  upon  the  youthful  knight  with  eyes  grown  sud- 
denly fierce. 

Quoth  he  softly: 

"  Whence  had  you  this,  sir  knight?  " 

"  From  one  that  liveth  but  for  thee." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Beltane  with  scornful  lip,  "  know  ye  such 
an  one,  in  faith  ?  " 

"  Aye,  messire,"  spake  the  knight,  low-voiced  yet  eager, 
"  one  that  doth  languish  for  thee,  that  hath  sent  me  in 
quest  of  thee  bearing  this  thy  sword  for  a  sign,  and  to  bid 
thee  to  return  since  without  thee  life  is  an  emptiness,  and 
there  is  none  so  poor,  so  heart-sick  and  woeful  as  Helen 
of  Mortain !  " 

"  Ah  —  liar !  "  cried  Beltane,  and  reaching  out  fierce 
hands  crushed  the  speaker  to  his  knees ;  but  even  so,  the 
young  knight  spake  on,  soft-voiced  and  calm  of  eye: 

"  Greater  than  thine  is  her  love  for  thee,  methinks,  since 
'tis  changeless  and  abiding  —  Slay  me  an  thou  wilt,  but 
while  I  live  I  will  declare  her  true  to  thee.  Whate'er  hath 
chanced,   whate'er   may   chance,   despite   all   doubts   and 


How  Beltane  Met  With  a  Knight      259 

enemies  she  doth  love  —  love  —  love  thee  through  life  till 
death  and  beyond.     O  my  lord  Beltane  — " 

"  Liar !  "  spake  Beltane  again.  But  now  was  he  seized 
of  a  madness,  a  cold  rage  and  a  deadly. 

"  Liar !  "  said  he,  "  thou  art  methinks  one  of  her  many 
wooers,  so  art  thou  greater  fool.  But  Helen  the  Beauti- 
ful hath  lovers  a-plenty,  and  being  what  she  is  shall  nothing 
miss  thee:  howbeit  thou  art  surely  liar,  and  surely  will  I 
slay  thee !  "  So  saying  he  swung  aloft  the  great  blade, 
but  even  so  the  young  knight  fronted  the  blow  with  eyes 
that  quailed  not :  pale-lipped,  yet  smiling  and  serene ;  and 
then,  or.  ever  the  stroke  could  fall  —  an  arm,  bronzed  and 
hairy,  came  between,  and  Roger  spake  hoarse-voiced : 

"  Master,"  he  cried,  "  for  that  thy  man  am  I  and  love 
thee,  shalt  ne'er  do  this  till  hast  first  slain  me.  'Tis  thus 
thou  did'st  teach  me  —  to  show  mercy  to  the  weak  and 
helpless,  and  this  is  a  youth,  unarmed.  Bethink  thee, 
master  —  O  bethink  thee !  " 

Slowly  Beltane's  arm  sank,  and  looking  upon  the  bright 
blade  he  let  it  fall  upon  the  ling  and  covered  his  face 
within  his  two  hands  as  if  its  glitter  had  blinded  him. 
Thus  did  he  stand  awhile,  the  fetters  agleara  upon  his 
wrists,  and  thereafter  fell  upon  his  knees  and  with  his  face 
yet  hidden,  spake: 

"  Walkyn,"  said  he,  "  O  Walkyn,  but  a  little  while  since 
I  named  thee  *  murderer  ' !  Yet  what,  in  sooth,  am  I?  So 
now  do  I  humbly  ask  thy  pardon.  As  for  thee,  sir  knight, 
grant  thy  pity  to  one  that  is  abased.  Had  I  tears,  now 
might  I  shed  them,  but  tears  are  not  for  me.  Go  you 
therefore  to  —  to  her  that  sent  thee  and  say  that  Beltane 
died  within  the  dungeons  of  Garthlaxton.  Say  that  I  who 
speak  am  but  a  sword  for  the  hand  of  God  henceforth,  to 
smite  and  stay  not  until  wrong  shall  be  driven  hence.  Say 
that  this  was  told  thee  by  a  sorry  wight  who,  yearning  for 
death,  must  needs  cherish  life  until  his  vow  be  accom- 
plished." 

But  as   Beltane  spake  thus  upon  his  knees,  his  head 


2  6o  Beltane  the  Smith 

bowed  humbly  before  them  all,  the  young  Icnight  came  near 
with  mailed  hands  outstretched,  yet  touched  him  not. 

"  Messire,"  said  he,  "  thou  hast  craved  of  me  a  boon  the 
which  I  do  most  full  and  freely  grant.  But  now  would  I 
beg  one  of  thee." 

"  'Tis  thine,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  who  am  I  to  gainsay 
thee?" 

"  Messire,  'tis  this ;  that  thou  wilt  take  me  to  serve  thee, 
to  go  beside  thee,  sharing  thy  woes  and  perils  henceforth." 

"  So  be  it,  sir  knight,"  answered  Beltane,  "  though  mine 
shall  be  a  hazardous  service,  mayhap.  So,  when  ye  will 
thou  shalt  be  free  of  it." 

Thus  saying  he  arose  and  went  aside  and  sat  him  down 
in  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  But  in  a  while  came  Roger  to 
him,  his  sword-belt  a-swing  in  his  hand,  and  looked  upon 
his  gloomy  face  with  eyes  full  troubled.  And  presently 
he  spake,  yet  halting  in  his  speech  and  timid : 

"  Master,"  he  said,  "  suffer  me  a  question." 

"  Verily,"  quoth  Beltane,  looking  up,  "  as  many  as  thou 
wilt,  my  faithful  Roger." 

"  Master,"  says  Roger,  twisting  and  turning  the  belt  in 
hairy  hands,  "  I  would  but  ask  thee  if  —  if  I  might  cut 
another  notch  from  this  my  accursed  belt  —  a  notch,  lord 
—  I  —  the  young  knight  — ?  " 

"  You  mean  him  that  I  would  have  murdered,  Roger? 
Reach  me  hither  thy  belt."  So  Beltane  took  the  belt  and 
with  his  dagger  cut  thence  two  notches,  whereat  quoth 
Roger,  staring: 

"  Lord,  I  did  but  save  one  life  —  the  young  knight  — " 

"  Thou  did'st  save  two,"  answered  Beltane,  "  for  had  I 
slain  him,  Roger  —  O,  had  I  slain  him,  then  on  this  night 
should'st  have  hanged  me  for  a  murderer.  Here  be  two 
notches  for  thee  —  so  take  back  thy  belt  and  go,  get  thee 
to  thy  rest  —  and,  Roger  —  pray  for  one  that  tasteth 
death  in  life." 

So  Roger  took  the  belt,  and  turning  softly,  left  Beltane 
crouched  above  the  fire  as  one  that  is  deadly  cold. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

HOW  BELTANE  HAD  NEWS  OF  ONE  THAT  WAS  A 
NOTABLE  PARDONER 

Beltane  awoke  to  the  shrill  notes  of  a  horn  and  starting 
to  sleepy  elbow,  heard  the  call  and  challenge  of  sentinel 
and  outpost  from  the  bank  above.  Thereafter  presently 
appeared  Giles  (that  chanced  to  be  captain  of  the  watch) 
very  j  oyously  haling  along  a  little  man  placid  and  rotund. 
A  plump  little  man  whose  sober  habit,  smacking  of  things 
ecclesiastic,  was  at  odds  with  his  face  that  beamed  forth 
jovial  and  rubicund  from  the  shade  of  his  wide-eaved  hat: 
a  pilgrim-like  hat,  adorned  with  many  small  pewter  images 
of  divers  saints.  About  his  waist  was  a  girdle  where  hung 
a  goodly  wallet,  plump  like  himself  and  eke  as  well  filled. 
A  right  buxom  wight  was  he,  comfortable  and  round,  who, 
though  hurried  along  in  the  archer's  lusty  grip,  smiled 
placidly,  and  spake  him  sweetly  thus: 

"  Hug  me  not  so  lovingly,  good  youth ;  abate  —  abate 
thy  hold  upon  my  tender  nape  lest,  sweet  lad,  the  holy 
Saint  Amphibalus  strike  thee  deaf,  dumb,  blind,  and  lat- 
terly, dead.  Trot  me  not  so  hastily,  lest  the  good  Saint 
Alban  cast  thy  poor  soul  into  a  hell  seventy  times  heated, 
and  'twould  be  a  sad  —  O  me !  a  very  sad  thing  that  thou 
should'st  sniff  brimstone  on  my  account." 

"  Why,  Giles,"  quoth  Beltane,  blinking  in  the  dawn, 
**  what  dost  bring  hither  so  early  in  the  morning?" 

"  Lord,  'tis  what  they  call  a  Pardoner,  that  dealeth  in 
relics,  mouldy  bones  and  the  like,  see  you,  whereby  they  do 
pretend  to  divers  miracles  and  wonders  — " 

"  Verily,  verily,"  nodded  the  little  man  placidly,  "  I  have 
here  in  my  wallet  a  twig  from  Moses'  burning  bush,  with 


262  Beltane  the  Smith 

the  great  toe  of  Thomas  a'  Didjmus,  the  thumb  of  the 
blessed  Saint  Alban  — " 

"  Ha,  rogue !  "  quoth  Giles,  "  when  I  was  a  monk  we  had 
four  thumbs  of  the  good  Saint  Alban  — " 

"  Why  then,  content  you,  fond  youth,"  smiled  the  Par- 
doner, '*  my  thumb  is  number  one  — " 

"  Oh,  tall  brother,"  quoth  Giles,  "  'tis  an  irreverent 
knave,  that  maketh  the  monk  in  me  arise,  my  very  toes  do 
twitch  for  to  kick  his  lewd  and  sacrilegious  carcase  — 
and,  lord,  he  would  kick  wondrous  soft  — " 

"  And  therein,  sweet  and  gentle  lord,"  beamed  the  little 
buxom  man,  "  therein  lieth  a  recommendation  of  itself. 
Divers  noble  lords  have  kicked  me  very  familiarly  ere  now, 
and  finding  me  soft  and  tender  have,  forthwith,  kicked 
again.  I  mind  my  lord  Duke  Ivo,  did  with  his  own  Ducal 
foot  kick  me  right  heartily  upon  a  time,  and  once  did 
spit  upon  my  cloak  —  I  can  show  you  the  very  place  — 
and  these  things  do  breed  and  argue  familiarity.  Thus 
have  I  been  familiar  with  divers  noble  lords  —  and  there 
were  ladies  also,  ladies  fair  and  proud  —  0  me !  " 

"  Now,  by  the  Rood !  "  says  Beltane,  sitting  up  and 
staring,  "  whence  had  you  this,  Giles  ?  " 

"  My  lord,  'twas  found  by  the  man  Jenkyn  snoring 
within  the  green,  together  with  a  mule  —  a  sorry  beast !  a 
capon  partly  devoured,  a  pasty  —  well  spiced !  and  a  wine- 
skin —  empty,  alas !  But  for  who  it  is,  and  whence  it 
Cometh  — " 

"  Sweet,  courteous  lord, —  resplendent,  youthful  sir,  I 
come  from  north  and  south,  from  east  and  west,  o'er  land, 
o'er  sea,  from  village  green  and  market-square,  but  lately 
from  the  holy  shrine  of  the  blessed  Saint  Amphibalus.  As 
to  who  I  am  and  what  —  the  universal  want  am  I,  for  I  do 
stand  for  health,  fleshly  and  spiritual.  I  can  cure  your 
diseases  of  the  soul,  mind  and  body.  In  very  sooth  the 
Pardoner  of  Pardoners  am  I,  with  pardons  and  indulgences 
but  now  hot  from  the  holy  fist  of  His  Holiness  of  Rome: 
moreover  I  have  a  rare  charm  and  notable  cure  for  the 
worms,  together  with  divers  salves,  electuaries,  medica- 


How  Beltane  Had  News       263 

ments  and  nostrums  from  the  farthest  Orient.  I  have 
also  store  of  songs  and  ballades,  grave  and  gay.  Are  ye 
melancholic?  Then  I  have  a  ditty  merry  and  mirthful. 
Would  ye  weep?  Here's  a  lamentable  lay  of  love  and 
languishment  infinite  sad  to  ease  you  of  your  tears.  Are 
ye  a  sinner  vile  and  damned?  Within  my  wallet  lie  par- 
dons galore  with  powerful  indulgences  whereby  a  man  may 
enjoy  all  the  cardinal  sins  yet  shall  his  soul  be  accounted 
innocent  as  a  babe  unborn  and  his  flesh  go  without  pen- 
ance. Here  behold  my  special  indulgence !  The  which,  to 
him  that  buyeth  it,  shall  remit  the  following  sins  damned 
and  deadly  —  to  wit:  Lechery,  perjury,  adultery,  wizan- 
dry.  Murders,  rapes,  thievings  and  slanders.  Then  fol- 
low the  lesser  sins,  as  — " 

*'  Hold !  "  cried  Beltane,  "  surely  here  be  sins  enough 
for  any  man." 

"  Not  so,  potent  sir :  for  'tis  a  right  sinful  world  and 
breedeth  new  sins  every  day,  since  man  hath  a  rare  inven- 
tion that  way.  Here  is  a  grievous  thing,  alas !  yet  some- 
thing natural:  for,  since  men  are  human,  and  human  'tis 
to  sin,  so  must  all  men  be  sinners  and,  being  sinners,  are 
they  therefore  inevitably  damned !  " 

"  Alas,  for  poor  humanity !  "  sighed  Beltane. 

"  Forsooth,  alas  indeed,  messire,  and  likewise  woe !  " 
nodded  the  Pardoner,  "  for  thou,  my  lord,  thou  art  but 
human,  after  all." 

"  Indeed  at  times,  'twould  almost  seem  so ! "  nodded 
Beltane  gravely. 

"  And  therefore,"  quoth  the  Pardoner,  *'  and  therefore, 
most  noble,  gentle  lord,  art  thou  most  assuredly  and  in- 
evitably — "     The  Pardoner  sighed. 

"  Damned  ?  "  said  Beltane. 

*'  Damned !  "  sighed  the  Pardoner. 

"  Along  with  the  rest  of  humanity !  "  nodded  Beltane. 

*'  All  men  be  more  prone  to  sin  when  youth  doth  riot 
in  their  veins,"  quoth  the  Pardoner,  "  and  alas,  thou  art 
very  young,  messire,  so  do  I  tremble  for  thee." 

"  Yet  with  each  hour  do  I  grow  older !  " 


264 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  And  behold  in  this  hour  come  I,  declaring  to  thee  there 
is  no  sin  so  vile  but  that  through  me,  Holy  Church  shall 
grant  thee  remission  —  at  a  price !  " 

"  A  price,  good  Pardoner?  " 

"  Why,  there  be  sins  great  and  sins  little.  But,  youth- 
ful sir,  for  thine  own  damnable  doings,  grieve  not,  mope 
not  nor  repine,  since  I,  Lubbo  Fitz-Lubbin,  Past  Pardoner 
of  the  Holy  See,  will  e'en  now  unloose,  assoil  and  remit 
them  unto  thee  — " 

"  At  a  price !  "  nodded  Beltane. 

"  Good  my  lord,"  spake  Giles,  viewing  the  Pardoner's 
plump  person  with  a  yearning  eye,  "  pray  thee  bid  me  kick 
him  hence !  " 

"  Not  so,  Giles,  since  from  all  things  may  we  learn  — 
with  patience.  Here  now  is  one  that  hath  travelled  and 
seen  much  and  should  be  wise  — " 

"  Forsooth,  messire,  I  have  been  so  accounted  ere  now," 
nodded  the  Pardoner. 

"  Dost  hear,  Giles.?  Thus,  from  his  wisdom  I  may  per- 
chance grow  wiser  than  I  am.  So  get  thee  back  to  thy 
duty,  Giles.     Begone  —  thy  presence  doth  distract  us." 

"  Aye,  base  archer,  begone ! "  nodded  the  Pardoner, 
seating  himself  upon  the  sward.  "  Thy  visage  dour  ac- 
cordeth  not  with  deep-seated  thought  —  take  it  hence !  " 

"  There  spake  wisdom,  Giles,  and  he  is  a  fool  that  dis- 
obeys.    So,  Giles  —  begone !  " 

Hereupon  Giles  frowned  upon  the  Pardoner,  who  lolling 
at  his  ease,  snapped  his  fingers  at  Giles,  whereat  Giles 
scowled  amain  and  scowling,  strode  away. 

"  Now,  messire,"  quoth  the  Pardoner,  opening  his  wal- 
let, "  now  in  the  matter  of  sinning,  messire,  an  thou  hast 
some  pet  and  peculiar  vice  —  some  little,  pretty  vanit}'^, 
some  secret,  sweet  transgression  — " 

"  Nay,  first,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  'tis  sure  thou  hast  a 
tongue  — " 

"  0  infallibly,  messire ;  a  sweet  tongue  —  a  tongue  at- 
tuned to  cunning  phrases.  God  gave  to  women  beauty, 
to  flowers  perfume,  and  to  me  —  a  tongue !  " 


How  Beltane  Had  News      265 

"  Good  Pardoner,  a  lonely  wight  am  I,  ignorant  of  the 
world  and  of  its  ways  and  doings.  So  for  thy  tongue  will 
I  barter  base  coin  —  what  can'st  tell  me  for  this  fair  gold 
piece?  " 

"  That  fain  would  I  have  the  spending  on't,  noble,  gen- 
erous sir." 

"What  more.?" 

"  Anything  ye  will,  messire :  for  since  I  am  the  want  uni- 
versal and  gold  the  universal  need,  needs  must  want 
want  need !     And  here  is  a  rare-turned  phrase,  methinks .''  " 

"  So  thus  do  I  wed  need  with  want,"  nodded  Beltane, 
tossing  him  the  coin.  "  Come  now,  discourse  to  me  of 
worldly  things  —  how  men  do  trim  their  beards  these 
days,  what  sins  be  most  i'  the  fashion,  if  Duke  Ivo  sleep- 
eth  a-nights,  whether  Pentavalon  city  standeth  yet.?  " 

"  Aha!  "  cried  the  Pardoner  (coin  safely  pouched),  "  I 
can  tell  ye  tales  a-plenty :  sly,  merry  tales  of  lovely  ladies 
fair  and  gay.  I  can  paint  ye  a  tongue  picture  of  one  be- 
yond all  fair  ladies  fair  —  her  soft,  white  body  panting- 
warm  for  kisses,  the  lure  of  her  mouth,  the  languorous 
passion  of  her  eyes,  the  glorious  mantle  of  her  flame-like 
hair.  I'll  tell  of  how  she,  full  of  witching,  wanton  wiles, 
love-alluring,  furtive  fled  fleet-footed  from  the  day  and  — 
there  amid  the  soft  and  slumberous  silence  of  the  tender 
trees  did  yield  her  love  to  one  beyond  all  beings  blest. 
Thus,  sighing  and  a-swoon,  did  Helen  fair,  a  Duchess 
proud  — " 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Beltane,  clenching  sudden  fist,  "  what  base 
and  lying  babble  do  ye  speak?  Helen,  forsooth  —  dare 
ye  name  her,  O  Thing?  " 

Now  before  Beltane's  swift  and  blazing  anger  the  Par- 
doner's assurance  wilted  on  the  instant,  and  he  cowered 
behind  a  lifted  elbow. 

"  Nay,  nay,  most  potent  lord,"  he  stammered,  "  spit 
on  me  an  ye  will  —  spit,  I  do  implore  thee,  but  strike  me 
not.  Beseech  thee  sir,  in  what  do  I  offend?  The  story 
runs  that  the  proud  and  wilful  lady  is  fled  away,  none 
know  wherefore,  why,  nor  where.     I  do  but  read  the  riddle 


2  66  Beltane  the  Smith 

thus:  wherefore  should  she  flee  but  for  love,  and  if  for 
love,  then  with  a  man,  and  if  with  a  man  — " 

'*  Enough  of  her ! "  quoth  Beltane  scowling,  "  woman 
and  her  wiles  is  of  none  account  to  me ! " 

"  How  —  how  ?  "  gasped  the  Pardoner,  "  of  no  ac- 
count — !  Woman  — !  But  thou'rt  youthful  —  of  no 
account  — !  Thou'rt  a  man  very  strong  and  lusty  — ! 
Of  no  account,  forsooth?  O,  Venus,  hear  him!  Woman, 
forsooth!  She  is  man's  aim,  his  beginning  and  oft-times 
his  end.  She  is  the  everlasting  cause.  She  is  man's  sweet- 
est curse  and  eke  salvation,  his  slave,  his  very  tyrant. 
Without  woman  strife  would  cease,  ambition  languish, 
Venus  pine  to  skin  and  bone  (sweet  soul!)  and  I  never  sell 
another  pardon  and  starve  for  lack  of  custom ;  for  while 
women  are,  so  will  be  pardoners.  But  this  very  week  I 
did  good  trade  in  fair  Belsaye  with  divers  women  —  three 
were  but  ordinary  indulgences  for  certain  small  marital 
transgressions ;  but  one,  a  tender  maid  and  youthful,  being 
put  to  the  torment,  had  denounced  her  father  and 
lover  — " 

"  The  torment  ?  "  quoth  Beltane,  starting.  "  The  tor- 
ment, say  you  ?  " 

"  Aye,  messire !  Belsaye  setteth  a  rare  new  fashion  in 
torments  of  late.  Howbeit,  the  father  and  lover  being 
denounced  before  Sir  Gui's  tribunal,  they  were  forthwith 
hanged  upon  my  lord  Gui's  new  gibbets  — " 

"  O  —  hanged  ?  "  quoth  Beltane  "  hanged  ?  '* 

"  Aye,  forsooth,  by  the  neck  as  is  the  fashion.  Now 
Cometh  this  woeful  wench  to  me  vowing  she  heard  their 
voices  i'  the  night,  and,  to  quiet  these  voices  besought  of 
me  a  pardon.  But  she  had  but  two  sorry  silver  pieces 
and  pardons  be  costly  things,  and  when  she  could  get  no 
pardon,  she  went  home  and  that  night  killed  herself  —  silly 
wench !  Ha !  my  lord  —  good  messire  —  my  arm  —  holy 
saints  !  'twill  break !  " 

"  Killed  herself  —  and  for  lack  of  thy  pitiful,  accursed 
pardon !  Heard  you  aught  else  in  Belsaye  —  speak !  " 
and  Beltane's  cruel  grip  tightened. 


How  Beltane  Had  News      267 

"  Indeed  —  indeed  that  will  I,  good  news,  sweet  news  — 
O  my  lord,  loose  my  arm !  " 

"Thine  arm,  good  Pardoner  —  thine  arm?  Aye,  take 
it  back,  it  availeth  me  nothing  —  take  it  and  cherish  it. 
To  part  with  a  pardon  for  but  two  silver  pieces  were  a 
grave  folly!  So  pray  you  forgive  now  my  ungentleness 
and  speak  my  thy  good,  sweet  tidings."  But  hereupon, 
the  Pardoner  feeling  his  arm  solicitously,  held  his  peace 
and  glowered  sullenly  at  Beltane,  who  had  turned  and  was 
staring  away  into  the  distance.  So  the  Pardoner  sulked 
awhile  and  spake  not,  until,  seeing  Beltane's  hand  creep 
out  towards  him,  he  forthwith  fell  to  volubility. 

"  'Tis  told  in  Belsaye  on  right  good  authority  that  a 
certain  vile  knave,  a  lewd,  seditious  rogue  hight  Beltane 
that  was  aforetime  a  charcoal-burner  and  thereafter  a 
burner  of  gibbets  —  as  witness  my  lord  Duke's  tall,  great 
and  goodly  gallows  —  that  was  beside  a  prison  breaker 
and  known  traitor,  hath  been  taken  by  the  doughty  Sir 
Pertolepe,  lord  Warden  of  the  IMarches,  and  by  him  very 
properly  roasted  and  burned  to  death  within  his  great 
Keep  of  Garthlaxton." 

"Roasted,  forsooth.?"  said  Beltane,  his  gaze  yet  afar 
off ;  "  and,  forsooth,  burned  to  ashes ;  then  forsooth  is  he 
surely  dead.''  " 

"  Aye,  that  is  he ;  and  his  ashes  scattered  on  a  dung- 
hill." 

"A  dung-hill  — ha.?" 

"  He  was  but  a  charcoal-burning  knave,  'tis  said  —  a 
rogue  base-born  and  a  traitor.  Now  hereupon  my  lord, 
the  good  lord  Sir  Gui,  my  lord  Duke's  lord  Seneschal  of 
Belsaye  — " 

"  Forsooth,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  here  be  lords  a-plenty 
in  Pentavalon !  " 

"  Hereupon  the  noble  Sir  Gui  set  a  cfose  watch  upon  the 
townsfolk  whereby  he  apprehended  divers  suspected  rogues, 
and  putting  them  to  the  torture,  found  thereby  proofs  of 
their  vile  sedition.  Insomuch  that  though  the  women  held 
their  peace  for  the  most  part,  certain  men  enduring  not,  did 


2  68  Beltane  the  Smith 

confess  knowledge  of  a  subterraneous  passage  'neath  the 
wall.  Then  did  Sir  Gui  cause  this  passage  to  be  stopped, 
and  four  gibbets  to  be  set  up  within  the  market-place,  and 
thereon  at  sunset  every  day  did  hang  four  men,  whereto 
the  towns  folk  were  summoned  by  sound  of  tucket  and 
drum:  until  upon  a  certain  evening  some  six  days  since 
(myself  standing  by)  came  a  white  friar  hight  Friar  Mar- 
tin —  well  known  in  Belsaye,  and  bursting  through  the 
throng  he  did  loud-voiced  proclaim  himself  the  traitor  that 
had  oped  and  shown  the  secret  way  into  the  dungeons 
unto  that  charcoal-rogue  for  whose  misdeeds  so  many  folk 
had  suffered.  So  they  took  this  rascal  friar  and  scourged 
him  and  set  him  in  the  water-dungeons  where  rats  do  frolic, 
and  to-night  at  sunset  he  dieth  by  slow  fire  as  a  warning 
to  —  Ah !  sweet,  noble,  good  my  lord,  what  —  what 
would  ye  — "  for  Beltane  had  risen  and  was  looking  down 
at  the  crouching  Pardoner,  suddenly  haggard,  pallid- 
lipped,  and  with  eyes  a-glare  with  awful  menace ;  but  now 
the  Pardoner  saw  that  those  eyes  looked  through  him  and 
beyond  —  living  eyes  in  a  face  of  death. 

"  Messire  —  messire !  "  quavered  the  Pardoner  on 
trembling  knees  ;  but  Beltane,  as  one  that  is  deaf  and  blind, 
strode  forward  and  over  him,  and  as  he  went  set  his  bugle 
to  his  lips  and  sounded  a  rallying  note.  Forthwith  came 
men  that  ran  towards  him  at  speed,  but  now  was  there  no 
outcry  or  confusion  and  their  mail  gleamed  in  the  early 
sun  as  they  fell  into  their  appointed  rank  and  com- 
pany. 

Then  Beltane  set  his  hands  unto  his  eyes  and  thereafter 
stared  up  to  the  heavens  and  round  about  upon  the  fair 
earth  as  one  that  wakes  from  a  dream  evil  and  hateful,  and 
spake,  sudden  and  harsh-voiced: 

"  Now  hither  to  me  Walkyn,  Giles  and  Roger.  Ye  do 
remember  how  upon  a  time  we  met  a  white  friar  in  the 
green  that  was  a  son  of  God  —  they  call  him  Brother 
Martin?     Ye  do  remember  brave  Friar  Martin.''  " 

"  Aye,  lord,  we  mind  him !  "  quoth  the  three. 

*'  Ye  will  remember  how  that  we  did,  within  the  green, 


How  Beltane  Had  News       269 

aid  him  to  bury  a  dead  maid,  young  and  fair  and  tender  — 
yet  done  to  shameful  death  ?  " 

"  Verily  master  —  a  noble  lady !  "  growled  Walkyn. 

"  And  very  young !  "  said  Roger. 

*'  And  very  comely,  alas  !  "  added  Giles. 

"  So  now  do  I  tell  thee  that,  as  she  died  —  snatched  out 
of  life  by  brutal  hands  —  so,  at  this  hour,  even  as  we 
stand  idle  here,  other  maids  do  suffer  and  die  within 
Belsaye  town.  To-day,  as  we  stand  here,  good  Friar  Mar- 
tin lieth  within  the  noisome  water-dungeons  where  rats  do 
frolic  — " 

"  Ha  !  the  pale  fox !  "  growled  Walkyn.  "  Bloody  Gui 
of  Allerdale  that  I  do  live  but  to  slay  one  day  with  Perto- 
lepe  the  Red  — " 

"  Thou  dost  remember,  Roger,  how,  within  the  Keep  at 
Belsaye  I  sware  an  oath  unto  Sir  Gui?  So  now  —  this 
very  hour  —  must  we  march  on  Belsaye  that  this  my 
oath  may  be  kept."  But  here  a  murmur  arose  that 
hummed  from  rank  to  rank ;  heads  were  shaken  and  gruff 
voices  spake  on  this  wise: 

"Belsaye?     'Tis  a  long  day's  march  to  Belsaye — " 

"  'Tis  a  very  strong  city  —  very  strongly  guarded  — " 

*'  And  we  muster  scarce  two  hundred  — " 

"  The  walls  be  high  and  we  have  no  ladders,  or  engines 
for  battery  and  storm  — " 

"  Forsooth,  and  we  have  here  much  booty  already  — " 

"  Ha  —  booty  !  "  cried  Beltane,  "  there  spake  tall  Or- 
son, methinks ! " 

"  Aye,"  cried  another  voice,  loud  and  defiant,  "  and  we 
be  no  soldiers,  master,  to  march  'gainst  walled  cities ; 
look'ee.  Foresters  are  we,  to  live  secure  and  free  within 
the  merry  greenwood.     Is't  not  so,  good  fellows  ?  " 

"  And  there  spake  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford !  "  quoth  Beltane. 
*'  Stand  forth  Orson,  and  Jenkyn  with  thee  —  so.  Now 
hearken  again.  Within  Belsaye  men  —  aye,  and  women 
too!  have  endured  the  torment,  Orson.  To-day,  at  sun- 
down, a  noble  man  doth  burn,  Jenkyn." 

"  Why,  look'ee,  master,"  spake  Jenkyn,  bold-voiced  yet 


270  Beltane  the  Smith 

blenching  from  Beltane's  unswerving  gaze,  "  look'ee,  good 
master,  here  is  no  matter  for  honest  woodsmen,  look'ee  — '* 

"  Aye,"  nodded  tall  Orson,  "  'tis  no  matter  of  ours,  so 
wherefore  should  us  meddle?  " 

"  And  ye  have  swords,  I  see,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  and 
thereto  hands  wherewith  to  fight,  yet  do  ye  speak,  for- 
sooth, of  booty,  and  fain  would  lie  hid  secure  within  the 
green?  So  be  it!  Bring  forth  the  record,  Giles,  and 
strike  me  out  the  names  of  Orson  and  Jenkyn,  the  which, 
being  shaped  like  men,  are  yet  no  men.  Give  therefore 
unto  each  his  share  of  booty  and  let  him  go  hence."  So 
saying.  Beltane  turned  and  looked  upon  the  close-drawn 
ranks  that  murmured  and  muttered  no  more.     Quoth  he: 

"  Now,  and  there  be  any  here  among  us  so  faint-hearted 
—  so  unworthy  as  this  Orson  and  Jenkyn,  that  do  hold 
treasure  and  safety  above  flesh  and  blood  —  if  there  be 
any  here,  who,  regarding  his  own  base  body,  will  strike  no 
blow  for  these  distressed  —  why,  let  him  now  go  forth  of 
this  our  company.  O  men!  O  men  of  Pentavalon,  do  ye 
not  hear  them,  these  woeful  ones  —  do  ye  not  hear  them 
crying  to  us  from  searing  flame,  from  dungeon  and  gib- 
bet—  do  ye  not  hear?  Is  there  one,  that,  remembering 
the  torments  endured  of  groaning  bodies,  the  dire  wrongs 
of  innocence  shamed  and  trampled  in  the  mire  —  lives 
there  a  man  that  will  not  adventure  life  and  limb  and  all  he 
doth  possess  that  such  things  may  be  smitten  hence  and 
made  an  end  of  for  all  time?  But  if  such  there  be,  let 
him  now  stand  forth  with  Orson  here,  and  Jenkyn  o'  the 
Ford !  " 

Thus  spake  Beltane  quick  and  passionate  and  thereafter 
paused,  waiting  their  answer ;  but  no.  man  spake  or  moved, 
only  from  their  grim  ranks  a  growl  went  up  ominous  and 
deep,  and  eyes  grown  bright  and  fierce  glared  upon  tall 
Orson  and  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford,  who  shuffled  with  their  feet 
and  fumbled  with  their  hands  and  knew  not  where  to  look. 

"  'Tis  well,  'tis  well,  good  comrades  all !  "  spake  Beltane 
in  a  while,  "  this  night,  mayhap,  shall  we,  each  one,  achieve 
great  things.     Go  now,  dig  ye  a  pit  and  therein  hide  such 


How  Beltane  Had  News       271 

treasure  as  ye  will  and  thereafter  arm  ye  at  points,  for  in 
the  hour  we  march.  Eric,  see  each  doth  bear  with  him 
food,  and  Giles,  look  that  their  quivers  be  full." 

So  saying.  Beltane  turned  and  coming  to  his  sleeping- 
place,  forthwith  began  to  don  his  armour.  And  presently 
he  was  aware  of  Orson  and  Jenkyn  standing  without  the 
cave  and  each  with  look  downcast;  and  eke  they  fumbled 
with  their  hands  and  shuffled  with  their  feet  and  fain  were 
to  speak  yet  found  no  word.  But  at  last  spake  Jenkyn 
humbly  and  on  this  wise : 

"  Master,  here  come  I,  look'ee,  with  Orson  that  is  my 
comrade,  look'ee  — " 

"  Nay,  go  get  thee  to  thy  '  booty  ' ! "  says  Beltane, 
busied  with  his  armour. 

"  Nay,  but  look'ee  master,  we  be  — " 

"  No  men !  "  quoth  Beltane,  "  thus  would  I  be  free  of  ye 
both  —  so  get  you  hence." 

"  But  good  master,"  spake  Orson,  "  we  do  ha'  changed 
our  minds  —  it  do  be  a  direful  thing  to  burn,  and  if  they 
do  ha'  tormented  maids  — " 

"  'Tis  no  matter  of  thine,"  quoth  Beltane.  "  So  go  thy 
ways  and  meddle  not," 

"  But  master,  look'ee  now,  we  be  stout  men,  and  look'ee, 
we  be  full  of  lust  to  fight  —  O  master,  let  us  go !  Kneel, 
Orson,  bend  —  bend  thy  long  shanks,  look'ee  — "  and 
forthwith  on  their  knees  fell  Jenkyn  and  tall  Orson  with 
pleading  eyes  and  eager  hands  outstretched. 

*'  O  master,  look'ee,  let  us  go !  " 

*'  Aye,  we  do  ha'  changed  our  minds,  master !  " 

"  Then  be  it  so !  "  said  Beltane,  "  and  I  pray  ye  be  ever 
faithful  to  your  minds !  "  Then  took  they  Beltane's  hand 
to  kiss  and  thereafter  up  they  sprang  and  went  rejoicing 
to  their  company. 

And  within  the  hour,  mail  and  bascinet  agleam,  the  two 
hundred  and  twenty  and  four  marched  forth  of  the  hollow 
with  step  blithe  and  free,  and  swung  away  through  the 
green  till  the  sound  of  voice  and  laughter,  the  ring  and 
clash  of  their  going  was  died  away  and  none  remained, 


272  Beltane  the  Smith 

save  where,  cross-legged  upon  the  sward,  his  open  wallet 
on  his  knee,  the  round  and  buxom  Pardoner  sat  to  cherish 
a  bruised  arm  and  to  stare  from  earth  to  heaven  and  from 
heaven  to  earth  with  eyes  wider  and  rounder  even  than  was 
their  wont  and  custom. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

HOW    THEY    CAME    TO    BELSAYE 

Through  broad  glades  deep-hid  within  the  wild ;  by  shady 
alleyway  and  leafy  track  they  held  their  march  south  and 
by  east,  a  close,  well-ordered  company  striding  long  and 
free  and  waking  the  solitudes  to  a  blithe  babblement  of 
laughing  echoes.  And  who  among  them  all  so  merry  as 
Giles  o'  the  Bow  at  the  head  of  his  sturdy  archers?  Oft 
trolling  some  merry  stave  or  turning  with  some  quip  or 
jape  upon  his  tongue,  but  with  eyes  quick  to  mark  the 
rhythmic  swing  of  broad,  mail-clad  shoulders,  eyes  criti- 
cal, yet  eyes  of  pride.  Who  so  grimly  eager  as  mighty 
Walkyn,  his  heavy  axe  lightly  a-swing,  his  long  legs  school- 
ing themselves  to  his  comrade's  slower  time  and  pace? 
Who  so  utterly  content  as  Black  Roger,  oft  glancing  from 
Beltane's  figure  in  the  van  to  the  files  of  his  pike-men,  their 
slung  shields  agleam,  their  spears  well  sloped?  And  who 
so  gloomy  and  thoughtful  as  Beltane,  unmindful  of  the 
youthful  knight  who  went  beside  him,  and  scarce  heeding 
his  soft-spoke  words  until  his  gaze  by  chance  lighted  upon 
the  young  knight's  armour  that  gleamed  in  the  sun  'neath 
rich  surcoat ;  armour  of  the  newest  fashion  of  link,  re- 
inforced by  plates  of  steel,  gorget  and  breast,  elbow  and 
knee,  and  with  cunningly  jointed  sollerets.  Moreover,  his 
shield  was  small  and  light  according  with  the  new  fashion, 
and  bare  the  blazon  of  two  hands,  tight  clasped,  and  the 
legend :     "  Semper  Fidelis." 

Now  viewing  all  this  with  a  smith's  knowledgf ul  eye, 
quick  to  note  the  costly  excellence  of  this  equipment.  Bel- 
tane forthwith  brake  silence : 

"  How  do  men  name  thee,  sir  knight  ?  " 


2  74  Beltane  the  Smith 

Hereupon,  after  some  delay,  the  young  knight  made 
answer : 

"  Messire,  the  motto  I  bear  upon  my  shield  is  a  good 
motto  methinks.  So  shalt  call  me  Fidelis  an  ye  will,  my 
lord." 

"  So  be  it.  Sir  Faithful,"  saying  which  Beltane  fell  to 
deep  thought  again. 

"  I  pray  you,  my  lord,"  quoth  Fidelis,  "  wherefore  so 
sad,  so  full  of  gloom  and  thought  ?  " 

"  I  seek  how  we  may  win  through  the  gates  of  Belsaye, 
Sir  Fidelis,  for  they  go  strongly  guarded  night  and  day ; 
yet  this  day,  ere  sunset,  ope  to  us  they  must.  But  how 
—  how.?" 

"  My  lord,"  spake  Sir  Fidelis,  "  I  have  heard  say  that 
few  may  go  where  many  oft-times  may  not.  Let  first  some 
two  or  three  adventure  it,  hid  'neath  some  close  dis- 
guise — " 

"  A  disguise  !  "  cried  Beltane,  "  Ha  —  a  disguise.  'Tis 
well  bethought,  good  Fidelis.  Forsooth,  a  disguise !  And 
'twill  be  market  day !  "  Thereafter  Beltane  strode  on, 
head  bent  in  frowning  thought,  nor  spake*  again  for  a 
space.  And  ever  the  files  swung  along  behind  in  time  to  a 
marching  song  carolled  blithe  in  the  rich,  sweet  voice  of 
Giles.  At  length  Beltane  raised  his  head  and  beholding 
the  sun  well-risen,  halted  his  company  beside  a  stream 
that  flowed  athwart  their  way,  and  sitting  thereby,  sum- 
moned to  him  the  four  —  namely,  Walkyn  and  Roger, 
Giles  and  Eric  of  the  wry  neck;  and  while  they  ate  to- 
gether, they  held  counsel  on  this  wise: 

Beltane.  "  How  think  ye  of  this  our  adventure,  com- 
rades all?  " 

Giles.  "  Forsooth,  as  a  man  do  I  think  well  of  it. 
Ho !  for  the  twang  of  bowstrings !  the  whirr  and  whistle 
of  well-sped  shafts  loosed  from  the  ear !  Ha !  as  an 
archer  and  a  man  'tis  an  adventure  that  jumpeth  with 
my  desire.  But  —  as  a  soldier,  and  one  of  much  and 
varied  experience,  as  one  that  hath  stormed  Belsaye  ere 
now  —  with  divers  other  towns,  cities,  keeps,  and  castles 


How  They  Came  to  Belsaye      275 

beyond  number  —  as  a  soldier,  I  do  think  it  but  a  gloomy 
business  and  foredoomed  to  failure  — " 

Beltane.     "  And  wherefore?  " 

Giles.  "  Method,  tall  brother,  method  precise  and 
soldier-like.  War  is  a  very  ancient  profession  —  an  hon- 
ourable profession  and  therefore  to  be  treated  with  due 
reverence.  Now,  without  method,  war  would  become  but 
a  scurvy,  sorry,  hole-and-corner  business,  unworthy  your 
true  soldier.  So  I,  a  soldier,  loving  my  profession,  do 
stand  for  method  in  all  things.  Thus,  would  I  attack  a 
city,  I  do  it  modo  et  forma:  first,  I  set  up  my  mantelets 
for  my  archers,  and  under  cover  of  their  swift  shooting  I 
set  me  up  my  mangonels,  my  trebuchets  and  balistae: 
then,  pushing  me  up,  assault  the  walls  with  cat,  battering- 
ram  and  sap,  and  having  made  me  a  breach,  would  forth- 
with take  me  the  place  by  sudden  storm.'* 

Roger.  "  Ha,  bowman !  here  is  overmuch  of  thee,  me- 
thinks !  And  dost  speak  like  a  very  archer-like  fool  — 
and  forsooth,  a  foolish  archer  to  boot.  Sure,  well  ye 
know  that  engines  for  the  battery  have  we  none  — " 

Giles.  "  Verily !  So  shall  we  none  of  Belsaye,  me- 
thinks.  Lacking  engines,  we  lack  for  all  —  no  method, 
no  city !     Remember  that,  dolt  Rogerkin !  " 

Roger.  "  Nay,  I  remember  Garthlaxton  aflame,  the 
gallows  aflare,  and  the  empty  dungeon.  So,  an  we  go 
up  'gainst  Belsaye  again,  shall  we  surely  take  it.  Re- 
member these,  long-winded  Giles,  and  being  a  soldier,  be  ye 
also  —  a  man." 

Beltane.     "  What  think  you,  Walkyn  ?  " 

Walkyn.  (patting  his  axe)  "  Of  Gui  of  Allerdale, 
master." 

Beltane.     "  And  you,  Eric?  " 

Eric.     "  That  where  thou  dost  go,  messire,  we  follow." 

Beltane.  "  'Tis  well.  Now  here  beside  me  sitteth  Sir 
Fidelis,  who  though  methinks  the  most  youthful  of  us 
all,  hath  a  head  in  council  wiser  than  us  all.  For  he  hath 
spoke  me  that  whereby  though  few  in  number  and  lacking 
engines  for  battery,  Giles  —  we  yet  may  win  through  the 


276 


Beltane  the  Smith 


walls  of  Belsaye  ere  sun-down.     Know  you  this  country, 

Walkyn?  " 

Walkyn.     "  As  my  hand,  lord." 

Beltane.     "  Is  there  a  village  hereabouts  ?  " 

Walkyn.  "  Aye,  five  miles  west  by  south  is  Brand-le- 
Dene.  But  there  is  a  mill  scarce  a  mile  down  stream,  I 
wot." 

Beltane.  *' A  mill?  'Twill  serve  —  go  ye  thither. 
Here  is  money  —  buy  therewith  four  hats  and  smocks  the 
like  that  millers  wear,  and  likewise  four  meal-sacks  well 
stuffed  with  straw." 

Walkyn.  (rising)  "  Smocks,  master?  Straw  and 
meal-sacks?  " 

Beltane.  "  And  haste,  Walkyn.  We  must  be  far 
hence  within  the  hour." 

Forthwith  up  rose  Walkyn  and  summoning  divers  of  his 
company  strode  away  down  stream,  what  time  Giles,  star- 
ing after  him  in  wonderment,  thereafter  shook  his  head  at 
Roger.     Quoth  he: 

"  Tall  brother  and  lord,  now  do  I  see  that  our  Roger 
burneth  for  knowledge,  panteth  for  understanding,  and 
fain  would  question  thee  but  that  his  mouth  is  full- 
crammed  of  meat.  Yet  do  his  bulging  eyes  supplicate  the 
wherefore  of  smocks,  and  his  goodly  large  ears  do  twitch 
for  the  why  of  sacks.  O  impatient  Rogerkin,  bolt  thy 
food,  man,  gulp  —  swallow,  and  ask  and  importune  my 
lord  thyself !  " 

"  Not  I  —  not  I !  "  quoth  Roger,  "  an  my  master  lack- 
eth  for  a  smock  or  a  sack,  for  me  is  no  question  of  where- 
fore or  why,  so  long  as  he  doth  get  them !  " 

"  But  the  straw,  Roger,"  said  Giles,  glancing  askew 
at  Beltane,  "  an  thou  should'st  plague  my  lord  with  ques- 
tions, how  think  ye  then  he  shall  answer  of  this 
straw?  " 

"  Thus,  thou  crafty  Giles,"  answered  Beltane.  "  Bel- 
saye is  strong,  but  strength  may  be,  perchance,  beguiled. 
So  may  a  miller's  smock  hide  a  shirt  of  mail,  and  straw, 
I  have  heard,  will  burn." 


How  They  Came  to  Belsaye      277 

"  Oho,  a  wile !  "  cried  Giles,  "  Aha !  some  notable  wile ! 
What  more?  " 

"  More  shalt  thou  know,  mayhap,  in  Belsaye  market- 
place." 

.  And  when  Beltane  had  handled  the  well-worn  smocks, 
had  viewed  the  bulging  meal-sacks  that  Walkyn  and  his 
fellows  brought  him,  he  arose.  At  his  word  the  company 
fell  to  their  ranks  and  forthwith  swung  off  again  south 
and  by  east,  what  time  Giles  carolled  blithely,  and  divers 
chorused  lustily :  while  Roger  whistled  and  even  grim 
Walkyn  (bethinking  him  of  Gui  of  AUerdale)  rumbled 
hoarsely  in  his  hairy  throat. 

So  the  miles  passed  unheeded  until,  as  the  sun  declined, 
they  left  the  wild  country  behind ;  wherefore  Beltane  com- 
manded all  men  to  a  strict  silence  and  thus  came  they  be- 
times to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  halting  within  the 
green,  beheld  afar  across  the  plain,  the  walls  of  fair  Bel- 
saye town. 

"  We  are  well  to  time,"  quoth  Beltane,  glancing  from 
sinking  sun  to  lengthening  shadow,  "  we  have  yet  an  hour 
to  sunset,  but  in  this  hour  much  have  we  to  do !  Hark 
ye  now !  "  and  drawing  the  four  about  him,  he  spake  them 
thus :  "  Walkyn  and  Roger  and  Eric  shall  into  the  town 
with  me  in  miller's  guise,  each  bearing  his  sack  of  flour, 
what  time  you,  Giles,  with  Sir  Fidelis  and  all  our  power 
bide  here  well  hid  till  such  time  as  ye  shall  see  a  smoke 
within  Belsaye.  And  when  ye  see  this  smoke,  rise  up 
and  make  you  ready  one  and  all,  yet  stir  not  from  the 
green  till  that  ye  hear  my  bugle-horn  sound  our  rallying- 
note.  Then  come  ye  on  amain,  and  being  within  the  city, 
charge  ye  where  my  horn  shall  sound.  How  now,  is't 
agreed  ?  " 

"  Aye,  lord !  "  nodded  Giles,  "  'tis  an  excellent  strategy 
in  faith,  and  yet  'twere  wiser  methinks  to  suffer  me  in 
Roger's  place:  for  being  guileful  in  war,  so  should  I  be  a 
very  beguiling  miller,  whereas  Roger,  an  we  plastered  him 
with  flour,  would  ne'er  be  other  than  Rogerkin  the  Black." 
"  Nay  Giles,  thy  post  is  here.     Let  your  bows  be  strung 


278 


Beltane  the  Smith 


and  ready,  but  set  your  pikes  to  the  fore  —  and  Giles, 
watch !     Walkyn,  bring  now  the  smocks." 

So  saying,  Beltane  tightened  his  belt,  drew  on  his  hood 
of  mail  and  laced  it  close,  and  turning,  found  Sir  Fidelis 
close  by  to  aid  him  with  the  hooded  smock;  and  Beltane 
wondered  to  see  him  so  pale  and  his  slender  hands  a-trem- 
ble. 

So  the  smocks  were  donned,  with  straw  about  their  legs 
bound  by  withies  as  was  the  custom,  and  taking  the  sacks 
upon  their  shoulders,  they  turned  aside  into  the  green  and 
were  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

HOW  GUI  OF  ALLERDALE  CEASED  FROM  EVU. 

Sir  Gui  of  Allerdale,  lord  Seneschal  of  Belsaye  town, 
rode  hawk  on  fist  at  the  head  of  divers  noble  knights  and 
gentle  esquires  with  verderers  and  falconers  attendant. 
The  dusty  highway,  that  led  across  the  plain  to  the  frown- 
ing gates  of  Belsaye,  was  a-throng  with  country  folk 
trudging  on  foot  or  seated  in  heavy  carts  whose  clumsy 
wheels  creaked  and  groaned  city-wards ;  for  though  the 
sun  was  far  declined,  it  was  market-day:  moreover  a  man 
was  to  die  by  the  fire,  and  though  such  sights  were  a- 
plenty,  yet  'twas  seldom  that  any  lord,  seneschal,  warden, 
castellan  or  —  in  fine,  any  potent  lord  dowered  with  right 
of  pit  and  gallows  —  dared  lay  hand  upon  a  son  of  the 
church,  even  of  the  lesser  and  poorer  orders ;  but  Sir  Gui 
was  a  bold  man  and  greatly  daring.  Wherefore  it  was 
that  though  the  market-traffic  was  well  nigh  done,  the  road 
was  yet  a-swarm  with  folk  all  eager  to  behold  and  watch 
how  a  white  friar  could  face  death  by  the  flame.  So,  on 
horse  and  afoot,  in  creaking  cart  and  wain,  they  thronged 
toward  the  goodly  city  of  Belsaye. 

Sir  Gui  rode  at  a  hand-pace,  and  as  he  rode  the  folk 
drew  hastily  aside  to  give  him  way,  and  bent  the  knee  full 
humbly  or  stood  with  bowed  heads  uncovered  to  watch 
him  pass ;  but  'neath  bristling  brows,  full  many  an  eye 
glared  fiercely  on  his  richly-habited,  slender  figure,  mark- 
ing his  quick,  dark  glance,  the  down-curving,  high-bridged 
nose  of  him  with  the  thin  lips  and  the  long,  pointed  chin 
below. 

Thus  rode  he,  assured  in  his  might  and  confident,  heed- 
less alike  of  the  glory  of  day  fast  drawing  into  evening, 
of  the  green  world  whose  every  blade  and  leaf  spake  of  life 


2  8o  Beltane  the  Smith 

abundant,  and  of  these  trampling  folk  who  bent  so  humbly 
at  his  passing,  their  cheeks  aglow  with  health ;  thus,  heed- 
ing but  himself  and  his  own  most  dear  desires,  how  should 
he  mark  the  four  tall  and  dusty  miller's  men  whose  brawny 
backs  were  stooped  each  beneath  its  burden?  And  how 
should  he,  confident  in  his  strength  and  might,  hale  and 
lusty  in  his  body,  come  to  think  on  death  sharp  and  swift? 
Thus  Sir  Gui  of  Allerdale,  lord  Seneschal  of  Belsaye  town, 
rode  upon  his  way,  with  eyes  that  glowed  with  the  love  of 
life,  and  tongue  that  curled  'twixt  smiling  lips  as  one 
that  savoured  its  sweetness  or  meditated  coming  joys. 
Perceiving  the  which,  two  youthful  esquires  that  rode  near 
by  nudged  elbows,  and  set  their  heads  together. 

"  I  know  yon  look  —  aha !  'tis  the  goldsmith's  fair 
young  wife.  There  have  been  lovers  who  loved  love  ere 
now  —  Pan,  see  you,  and  Jove  himself  they  say :  but 
Pan  was  coy,  and  Jove  — " 

"  Hist,  he  beckons  us  !  " 

So  came  these  young  esquires  beside  Sir  Gui  who,  tap- 
ping the  dust  from  his  habit  with  soft  white  hand,  spake 
soft-voiced  and  sweet. 

"  Ride  on,  sirs,  and  bid  our  careful  warden  stay  awhile 
the  execution  of  this  traitorous  friar.  Let  the  square 
be  lined  with  pikes  as  is  our  custom:  let  the  prisoner  be 
chained  unto  his  stake  see  you,  but  let  all  things  stay  until 
I  be  come.  There  will  be  many  folk  in  Belsaye,  meseem- 
eth,  well  —  let  them  wait,  and  stare,  and  whisper,  and  — 
wait,  till  I  be  come !  " 

Forward  spurred  the  young  esquires  to  do  as  was  com- 
manded, joyful  to  see  the  confusion  that  marked  their 
swift  career  and  making  good  play  of  their  whips  on  the 
heads  and  shoulders  of  such  as  chanced  to  be  within  reach ; 
in  especial  upon  a  mighty  fellow  in  floured  smock  that 
bare  a  sack  on  his  shoulder  and  who,  stung  with  the  blow, 
cried  a  curse  on  them  in  voice  so  harsh  and  bold  that  folk 
shrank  from  his  neighbourhood,  yet  marvelled  at  his  dar- 
ing. Being  come  anon  within  the  city  Sir  Gui  dismounted 
beside  the  gate,  and  giving  horse  and  falcon  to  an  esquire,. 


How  Sir  Gui  Ceased  from  Evil      281 

beckoned  to  him  a  grizzled  man-at-arms ;  now  as  he  did  so, 
a  tall  miller  passed  him  by,  and  stumbling  wearily,  set 
down  his  sack  against  the  wall  and  panted. 

"  Bare  you  the  letter  as  I  commanded,  Rolf?  " 

*'  Aye,  my  lord." 

"What  said  she?" 

"  Wept,  my  lord." 

*'  Spake  she  nought  ?  " 

"  Nought,  my  lord." 

"  Lieth  the  goldsmith  deep?" 

*'  Above  the  water-dungeons,  my  lord." 

"And  she  wept,  say  you?  Methinks  the  goldsmith 
shall  go  free  to-morrow !  " 

So  saying,  Sir  Gui  went  on  into  the  city,  and  as  he  went, 
his  smile  was  back  again,  and  his  tongue  curved  red  be- 
twixt his  lips.  And  presently  the  tall  miller  hoisted  his 
burden  and  went  on  into  the  city  also ;  turned  aside  down 
a  narrow  passage  betwixt  gloomy  houses,  and  so  at  last 
out  into  the  square  that  hummed  with  a  clamour  hushed 
and  expectant.  But  my  lord  Seneschal,  unheeding  ever, 
came  unto  a  certain  quiet  corner  of  the  square  remote 
and  shady,  being  far  removed  from  the  stir  and  bustle 
of  the  place;  here  he  paused  at  an  open  doorway  and 
turned  to  look  back  into  the  square,  ruddy  with  sunset  — 
a  careless  glance  that  saw  the  blue  of  sky,  the  heavy- 
timbered  houses  bathed  in  the  warm  sunset  glow,  the  which, 
falling  athwart  the  square,  shone  red  upon  the  smock  of  a 
miller,  who  stooping  'neath  his  burden,  stumbled  across 
the  uneven  cobble-stones  hard  by.  All  this  saw  Sir  Gui 
in  that  one  backward  glance;  then,  unheeding  as  ever, 
went  in  at  the  doorway  and  up  the  dark  and  narrow  stair. 
But  now  it  chanced  that  the  miller,  coming  also  to  this 
door,  stood  a  while  sack  on  shoulder,  peering  up  into  the 
gloom  within ;  thereafter,  having  set  down  his  burden  in 
stealthy  fashion,  he  also  turned  and  glanced  back  with  eyes 
that  glittered  in  the  shadow  of  his  hat:  then,  setting  one 
hand  within  his  smock,  he  went  in  at  the  door  and,  soft- 
footed  began  to  creep  up  that  dark  and  narrow  stair. 


282  Beltane  the  Smith 

She  sat  In  a  great  carven  chair,  her  arms  outstretched 
across  the  table  before  her,  her  face  bowed  low  between, 
and  the  setting  sun  made  a  glory  of  her  golden  hair.  Of 
a  sudden  she  started,  and  lifting  her  head  looked  upon 
Sir  Gui ;  her  tears,  slow-falling  and  bitter,  staining  the 
beauty  of  her  face. 

"  My  lord  —  ah,  no !  "  she  panted,  and  started  to  her 
feet. 

"  Dear  and  fair  my  lady  —  fear  not.  Strong  am  I, 
but  very  gentle  —  'tis  ever  my  way  with  beauty.  I  do  but 
come  for  my  answer."  And  he  pointed  to  a  crumpled 
parchment  that  lay  upon  the  table. 

"  O,  good  mj'^  lord,"  she  whispered,  "  I  cannot !  If  thou 
art  gentle  indeed  —  then  — " 

"  He  lieth  above  the  water-dungeons,  lady !  "  sighed  Sir 
Gui. 

"  Ah,  the  sweet  Christ  aid  me !  " 

"  To-morrow  he  goeth  to  death,  or  lieth  in  those  round, 
white  arms.  Lady,  the  choice  is  thine:  and  I  pray  you 
show  pity  to  thy  husband  who  lovoth  thee  well,  'tis  said." 
Now  hereupon  she  sobbed  amain  and  fell  upon  her  knees 
with  arms  outstretched  in  passionate  appeal  —  but  lo!- 
she  spake  no  word,  her  swimming  eyes  oped  suddenly  wide, 
and  with  arms  yet  outstretched  she  stared  and  stared  be- 
yond Sir  Gui  in  so  much  that  he  turned  and  started  back 
amazed  —  to  behold  one  clad  as  a  dusty  miller,  a  mighty 
man  whose  battered  hat  touched  the  lintel  and  whose 
great  bulk  filled  the  doorway  —  a  very  silent  man  who 
looked  and  looked  with  neck  out-thrust,  yet  moved  not 
and  uttered  no  word.  Hereupon  Sir  Gui  spake  quick 
and  passion-choked: 

"  Fool  —  fool !  hence,  thou  blundering  fool.  For  this 
shalt  be  flayed  alive.  Ha !  —  hence,  thou  dusty  rogue !  '* 
But  now  this  grim  figure  stirred,  and  lifting  a  great  hand, 
spake  hoarse  and  low : 

"  Peace,  knight !  Hold  thy  peace  and  look !  "  The 
wide-eavcd  hat  was  tossed  to  the  floor  and  Sir  Gui,  clench- 
ing his   hands,  would  have  spoken  but  the  harsh  voice 


How  Sir  Gui  Ceased  from  Evil      283 

drowned  his  words :  "  How,  knight,  thou  that  art  Bloody 
Gui  of  Allerdale!  Dost  thou  not  know  me,  forsooth? 
I  am  Waldron,  whose  father  and  mother  and  sister  ye 
slew.  Aye,  Waldron  of  Brand  am  I,  though  men  do  call 
me  Walkyn  o'  the  Dene  these  days.  Brand  was  a  fair 
manor,  knight  —  a  fair  manor,  but  long  since  dust  and 
ashes  —  ha !  a  merry  blaze  wherein  father  and  mother  and 
sister  burned  and  screamed  and  died  —  in  faith,  a  roguish 
blaze!     Ha!  d'ye  blench?     Dost  know  me,  forsooth?" 

Then  Sir  Gui  stepped  back,  drawing  his  sword;  but, 
even  so,  death  leapt  at  him.  A  woman,  wailing,  fled  from 
the  chamber,  a  chair  crashed  to  the  floor ;  came  a  strange, 
quick  tapping  of  feet  upon  the  floor  and  thereafter  rose  a 
cry  that  swelled  louder  to  a  scream  —  louder  to  a  bub- 
bling shriek,  and  dying  to  a  groaning  hiss,  was  gone. 

And,  in  a  while,  Walkyn,  that  had  been  Waldron  of 
Brand,  rose  up  from  his  knees,  and  running  forth  of  the 
chamber,  hasted  down  the  dark  and  narrow  stair. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

HOW"  THE  POLK  OF  BELSAYE  TOWN  MADE  THEM  AN 
END  OF  TYEANNY 

,The  market-place  was  full  of  the  stir  and  hum  of  jostling 
crowds ;  here  were  pale-faced  townsfolk,  men  and  women 
and  children  who,  cowed  by  suffering  and  bitter  wrong, 
spake  little,  and  that  little  below  their  breath;  here  were 
country  folk  from  village  and  farmstead  near  and  far,  a 
motley  company  that  talked  amain,  loud-voiced  and  eager, 
as  they  pushed  and  strove  to  see  Avhere,  in  the  midst  of 
the  square  beyond  the  serried  ranks  of  pike-men,  a  post 
had  been  set  up ;  a  massy  post,  grim  and  solitary,  whose 
heavy  chains  and  iron  girdle  gleamed  ominous  and  red  in 
the  last  rays  of  sunset.  Near  by,  upon  a  dais,  they  had 
set  up  a  chair  fairly  gilded,  wherein  Sir  Gui  was  wont  to 
sit  and  watch  justice  done  upon  the  writhing  bodies  of 
my  lord  Duke's  enemies.  Indeed,  the  citizens  of  Belsaye 
had  beheld  sights  many  and  dire  of  late,  wherefore  now 
they  blenched  before  this  stark  and  grisly  thing  and  looked 
askance ;  but  to  these  country  folk  such  things  were  some- 
thing newer,  wherefore  they  pushed  and  strove  amid  the 
press  that  they  might  view  it  nearer  —  in  especial  two  in 
miller's  hooded  smocks,  tall  and  lusty  fellows  these,  who 
by  dint  of  shoulder  and  elbow,  won  forward  until  they 
were  stayed  by  the  file  of  Sir  Gui's  heavy-armed  pikemen. 
Thereupon  spake  one,  close  in  his  fellow's  ear :  — 

"  Where  tarries  Walkyn,  think  you?  "  said  Beltane  be- 
low his  breath. 

"  Master,  I  know  not  —  he  vanished  in  the  press  but 
now  — " 

"And  Eric?" 

"  He  watcheth  our  meal-sacks.     Shall  I  not  go  bid  him 


An  End  of  Tyranny  285 

strike  flint  and  steel  ?     The  time  were  fair,  methinks  ?  " 

"  Not  so,  wait  you  until  Sir  Gui  be  come  and  seated  in 
his  chair  of  state:  then  haste  you  to  bold  Eric  and,  the 
sacks  ablaze,  shout  '  fire ;'  so  will  I  here  amid  the  press 
take  up  the  cry,  and  in  the  rush  join  with  ye  at  the  gate. 
Patience,  Roger." 

And  now  of  a  sudden  the  throng  stirred,  swayed  and 
was  still;  but  from  many  a  quivering  lip  a  breath  went 
up  to  heaven,  a  sigh  —  a  whispered  groan,  as,  through  the 
shrinking  populace,  the  prisoner  was  brought.  A  man  of 
Belsaye  he,  a  man  strong  and  tender,  whom  many  had 
loved  full  well.  Half  borne,  half  dragged  betwixt  his 
gaolers,  he  came  on  stumbling  feet  —  a  woeful  shivering 
thing  with  languid  head  a-droop ;  a  thing  of  noisome  rags 
that  told  of  nights  and  days  in  dungeon  black  and  foul; 
a  thing  whose  shrunken  nakedness  showed  a  multitude  of 
small  wounds,  slow-bleeding,  that  spoke  of  teeth  little  yet 
vicious,  bold  with  hunger  in  the  dark ;  a  miserable,  tot- 
tering thing,  haggard  and  pinched,  that  shivered  and 
shook  and  stared  upon  all  things  with  eyes  vacant  and 
wide. 

And  thus  it  was  that  Beltane  beheld  again  Friar  Mar- 
tin, the  white  friar  that  had  been  a  man  once,  a  strong  man 
and  a  gentle.  They  brought  him  to  the  great  post,  they 
clasped  him  fast ,  within  the  iron  band  and  so  left  him, 
shivering  in  his  chains  with  head  a-droop.  Came  the 
sound  of  muffled  weeping  from  the  crowd,  while  high 
above,  in  sky  deepening  to  evening,  a  star  twinkled.  Now 
in  a  while  the  white  friar  raised  his  heavy  head  and  looked 
round  about,  and  lo !  his  eyes  were  vacant  no  longer,  and 
as  folk  strove  to  come  more  nigh,  he  spake,  hoarse-voiced 
and  feeble. 

"  O  children,  grieve  not  for  me,  for  though  this  body 
suffer  a  little,  my  soul  doth  sit  serene.  What  though  I 
stand  in  bonds,  yet  doth  my  soul  go  free.  Though  they 
burn  my  flesh  to  ashes  yet  doth  my  soul  live  on  forever. 
So  grieve  not  your  hearts  for  me,  my  children,  and,  for 
yourselves,  though  ye  be  afflicted  even  as  I  —  fear  ye  noth- 


2  86  Beltane  the  Smith 

ing  —  since  I,  that  ye  all  do  know  for  a  truthful  man,  do 
tell  ye  'tis  none  so  hard  to  die  if  that  our  hearts  be  clean. 
What  though  ye  suffer  the  grievous  horror  of  a  prison? 
Within  the  dark  ye  shall  find  God.  Thus  I  amid  the  dread- 
ful gloom  of  my  deep  dungeon  did  lie  within  the  arms  of 
God,  nothing  fearing.  So,  when  the  fire  shall  sear  me, 
though  this  my  flesh  may  groan,  God  shall  reach  down  to 
me  through  smoke  and  flame  and  lift  my  soul  beyond.  O 
be  ye  therefore  comforted,  my  children:  though  each  must 
die,  yet  to  the  pure  in  heart  death  is  none  so  hard  — " 

Thus  spake  Friar  Martin,  shivering  in  his  bonds,  what 
time  the  crowd  rocked  and  swayed,  sobbing  aloud  and 
groaning;  whereat  Sir  Gui's  pikemen  made  lusty  play 
with  their  spear-shafts. 

Then  spake  Beltane,  whispering,  to  Roger,  who,  sweat- 
ing with  impatience,  groaned  and  stared  and  gnawed  upon 
his  fingers: 

"  Away,  Roger ! "  And  on  the  instant  Roger  had 
turned,  and  with  brawny  shoulders  stooped,  drove  through 
the  swaying  press  and  was  gone. 

Now  with  every  moment  the  temper  of  the  crowd  grew 
more  threatening;  voices  shouted,  fists  were  clenched,  and 
the  scowling  pike-men,  plying  vicious  spear-butts,  cursed, 
and  questioned  each  other  aloud :  "  Why  tarries  Sir 
Gui.?'' 

Hereupon  a  country  fellow  hard  by  took  up  the  ques- 
tion: 

"  Sir  Gui!  "  he  shouted,  "  Why  cometh  not  Sir  Gui?  " 

"Aye!"  cried  others,  "where  tarries  Sir  Gui?" 
"Why  doth  he  keep  us?"     "Where  tarries  Sir  Gui?" 

"  Here !  "  roared  a  voice  deep  and  harsh,  "  Way  — 
make  way !  "  And  suddenly  high  above  the  swaying  crowd 
rose  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man,  a  mighty  man  in  the 
dusty  habit  of  a  miller,  upon  whose  low-drawn  hood  and 
be-floured  smock  were  great  gouts  and  stains  evil  and 
dark;  and  now,  beholding  what  manner  of  stains  these 
were,  all  men  fell  silent  and  blenched  from  his  path.  Thus 
amid    a   lane    of   pallid    faces    that    stared    and    shrank 


An  End  of  Tyranny  287 

away,  the  tall  miller  came  unto  the  wondering  pike-men 
—  burst  their  ranks  and  leapt  upon  the  dais  where  stood 
the  gilded  chair. 

"  Ho !  soldiers  and  men-at-arms  —  good  people  of  Bel- 
saye  —  call  ye  for  Gui  in  sooth?  hunger  ye  for  sight  of 
Bloody  Gui  of  Allerdale  in  faith?  Why  then  —  behold !  " 
and  from  under  his  be-dabbled  smock  he  drew  forth  a  head, 
pale  as  to  cheek  and  hair,  whose  wide  eyes  stared  blindly 
as  it  dangled  in  his  hairy  hand ;  and  now,  staring  up  at 
this  awful,  sightless  thing  —  that  brow  at  whose  frown  a 
city  had  trembled,  those  pallid  lips  that  had  smiled,  and 
smiling,  doomed  men  and  women  to  torment  and  death  — 
a  hush  fell  on  Belsaye  and  no  man  spoke  or  stirred. 

Then,  while  all  folk  stood  thus,  rigid  and  at  gaze,  a 
wild  cry  was  heard,  shivering  the  stillness  and  smiting  all 
hearts  with  sudden  dread :  — 

"  Fire !     Fire !  " 

"  Aye,  fire !  "  roared  the  miller,  "  see  yonder !  "  and  he 
pointed  where  a  column  of  thick  smoke  mounted  slowly 
upon  the  windless  air.  But  with  the  cry  came  tumult  —  a 
hurry  of  feet,  shouts  and  yells  and  hoarse  commands ; 
armour  clashed  and  pike-heads  glittered,  down-sweeping 
for  the  charge.  Then  Walkyn  laughed,  and  hurling  the 
pale  head  down  at  the  nearest  soldiery,  drew  from  his 
smock  his  mighty  axe  and  swung  it,  but  lo !  'twixt  him 
and  the  pike-men  was  a  surging,  ravening  mob  that  closed, 
front  and  rear,  upon  knight  and  squire,  upon  pike-man  and 
man-at-arms,  men  who  leapt  to  grip  mailed  throats  in 
naked  hands,  women  who  screamed  and  tore.  And  one  by 
one,  knight  and  squire,  and  man-at-arms,  smiting,  shriek- 
ing, groaning,  were  dragged  down  with  merciless  hands,  to 
be  wrenched  at,  torn,  and  trampled  'neath  merciless  feet, 
while  high  and  clear  above  this  fierce  and  dreadful  clamour 
rose  the  shrill  summons  of  a  horn. 

And  lo  !  a  shout  —  a  roar  —  drowning  the  shrieks  of 
dying  men,  the  screams  of  vengeful  women,  "  Arise  — 
arise  —  Pentavalon  !  "  Came  a  rush  of  feet,  a  shock,  and 
thereafter  a  confused  din  that  rose  and  fell  and,  gradually 


2  88  Beltane  the  Smith 

ceasing,  was  lost  in  a  sudden  clamour  of  bells,  fierce-peal- 
ing in  wild  and  joyous  riot.  , 

"  Aha !  'tis  done  — 'tis  done !  "  panted  Roger,  stoop- 
ing to  cleanse  his  blade,  "  spite  of  all  our  lack  of  method, 
Giles — 'tis  done!  Hark  ye  to  those  joy -bells!  So  doth 
fair  Belsaye  shout  to  all  men  she  is  free  at  last  and  clean 
of  Gui  and  all  his  roguish  garrison  — " 

"Clean?"  quoth  Giles.  "Clean,  forsooth.'*  Roger  — 
O  Roger  man,  I  have  seen  men  die  in  many  and  divers  un- 
gentle ways  ere  now,  but  these  men  —  these  men  of  Gui's, 
look  —  look  yonder !  O  sweet  heaven  keep  me  ever  from 
the  tearing  hands  of  vengeful  mothers  and  women 
wronged !  "  And  turning  his  back  on  the  littered  market 
square,  Giles  shivered  and  leaned  him  upon  his  sword  as 
one  that  is  sick. 

"  Nay,"  said  Black  Roger,  "  Gui's  black  knaves  being 
rent  in  pieces,  Giles,  we  shall  be  saved  the  hanging  of  them 

—  ha !  there  sounds  my  lord's  horn,  and  'tis  the  rallying- 
note  —  come  away,  Giles  !  " 

Side  by  side  they  went,  oft  stepping  across  some  shape- 
less horror,  until  in  their  going  they  chanced  on  one  that 
knelt  above  a  child,  small  and  dead.  And  beholding  the" 
costly  fashion  of  this  man's  armour,  Roger  stooped,  and 
wondering,  touched  his  bowed  shoulder: 

"  Sir  Fidelis,"  said  he,  "  good  young  messire,  and  art 
thou  hurt,  forsooth  ?  " 

"Hurt.f"'  sighed  Sir  Fidelis,  staring  up  great-eyed, 
"  hurt  ?     Nay,  behold  this  sweet  babe  —  ah,  gentle  Christ 

—  so  innocent  —  and  slain !  A  tender  babe !  And  yon- 
der —  yonder,  what  dire  sights  lie  yonder  — "  and  sigh- 
ing, the  youthful  knight  sank  back  across  Black  Roger's 
arm  and  so  lay  speechless  and  a-swoon. 

Quoth  Roger,  grim-smiling: 

"  What,  Giles,  here's  one  that  loveth  woman's  finger- 
work  no  more  than  thou !  "  Thus  saying,  he  stooped  and 
lifting  the  young  knight  in  his  arms,  bore  him  across  the 
square,  stumbling  now  and  then  on  things  dim-seen  in  the 
dark,  for  night  was  at  hand. 


An  End  of  Tyranny  289 

So  thus  it  was  that  the  folk  of  fair  Belsaye  town,  men 
and  women  with  gnashing  teeth  and  rending  hands,  made 
them  an  end  of  Tyranny,  until  with  the  night,  there  noth- 
ing remained  of  proud  Sir  Gui  and  all  his  lusty  garrison, 
save  shapeless  blotches  piled  amid  the  gloom  —  and  that 
which  lay,  forgotten  quite,  a  cold  and  pallid  thing,  befouled 
with  red  and  trampled  mire ;  a  thing  of  no  account  hence- 
forth, that  stared  up  with  glazed  and  sightless  eyes,  where, 
remote  within  the  sombre  firmament  of  heaven,  a  great  star 
glowed  and  trembled. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

HOW    THEY    LEFT    BELSAYE 

Lanthorns  gleamed  and  torches  flared  in  the  great  square 
of  Belsaye  where  panting,  shouting  townsfolk  thronged 
upon  Beltane  and  his  company  with  tears  of  joy,  with 
laughter  loud  and  high-pitched,  with  shouts  and  wild  ac- 
claim ;  many  there  were  who  knelt  to  kiss  their  sun-browned 
hands,  their  feet,  the  very  links  of  their  armour.  And 
presently  came  Giles  o'  the  Bow,  debonair  and  smiling, 
a  woman's  scarf  about  his  brawny  throat,  a  dozen  ribands 
and  favours  tied  about  each  mailed  arm. 

"  Lord,"  quoth  he,  "  tall  brother,  I  have  been  fairly 
kissed  by  full  a  score  of  buxom  dames  —  the  which  is  ex- 
cellent good,  for  the  women  of  Belsaye  are  of  beauty  re- 
nowned. But  to  kiss  is  a  rare  and  notable  science,  and  to 
kiss  well  a  man  should  eat  well,  and  forsooth,  empty  am  I 
as  any  drum!  Therefore  prithee  let  us  eat,  that  I  may 
uphold  my  reputation,  for,  as  the  learned  master  Ovidius 
hath  it,  *  osculos  ' — " 

But  from  the  townsfolk  a  shout  arose: 

"  Comes  the  Reeve !  'Tis  good  master  Cuthbert !  Way 
for  the  Reeve !  " 

Hereupon  the  crowd  parting,  a  tall  man  appeared,  his 
goodly  apparel  torn,  his  long  white  hair  disordered,  while 
in  his  hand  he  yet  grasped  a  naked  sword.  Stern  his 
face  was,  and  lined  beyond  his  years,  moreover  his  broad 
shoulders  were  bowed  with  more  than  age;  but  his  eye 
was  bright  and  quick,  and  when  he  spake,  his  voice  was 
strong  and  full. 

"  Which,  I  pray,  is  chief  est  among  ye.''  " 

**  That  am  I,"  quoth  Beltane. 


How  They  Left  Belsaye       291 

"  Messire,"  said  the  Reeve,  "  who  and  what  men  ye  are  I 
know  not,  but  in  the  name  of  these  my  fellow-citizens  do  I 
thank  ye  for  our  deliverance.  But  words  be  poor  things, 
now  therefore,  an  it  be  treasure  ye  do  seek  ye  shall  be 
satisfied.  We  have  suffered  much  by  extortion,  but  if  gold 
be  your  desire,  then  whatsoever  gold  doth  lie  in  our  treas- 
ury, the  half  of  it  is  freely  thine." 

"  O  most  excellent  Reeve ! "  cried  Giles,  "  forsooth,  a 
very  proper  spirit  of  gratitude." 

"  Good  master,"  spake  Beltane,  quelling  the  archer  with 
a  look,  "  these  my  comrades  hither  came  that  a  noble  man 
should  not  perish,  and  that  Sir  Gui  of  Allerdale  should 
cease  from  evil,  and  behold,  'tis  done !  So  I  pray  you, 
give  us  food  and  shelter  for  the  night,  for  with  the  dawn 
we  march  hence." 

"  But  —  O  tall  brother !  "  gasped  Giles,  "  O  sweet  lord, 
there  was  mention  made  of  treasure !  A  large-souled 
Reeve  —  a  Reeve  with  bowels  !  *  Treasure  '  quoth  he,  and 
likewise  '  gold ! '  And  these  be  matters  to  excogitate  upon. 
Moreover,  pecunice  obediunt  omnia,  brother." 

"  Money,  forsooth !  "  quoth  Beltane  bitterly ;  "  now  out 
upon  thee,  Giles  —  how  think  ye  money  shall  avail  the  like 
of  us  whose  lives  are  forfeit  each  and  every,  whose  foes  be 
many  and  strong,  who  must  ever  be  on  our  ward,  quick 
to  smite  lest  we  be  smitten  —  money,  forsooth  !  So,  good 
master  Reeve,  keep  thy  useless  treasure,  and,  in  its  stead, 
give  to  us  good  steel  —  broadswords,  sharp  and  well-tem-- 
pered  and  stout  link-mail  —  give  of  these  to  such  as  lack." 

"  But  —  O  brother,"  says  Giles,  "  with  gold  may  we 
gain  all  these." 

"  Verily,  Giles,  but  gaining  all  without  gold  we  lack 
not  for  gold,  nor  have  the  added  fear  of  losing  it.  He 
that  would  gain  wealth  must  first  win  freedom,  for  with- 
out freedom  the  richest  is  but  a  sorry  slave.  So  give  us 
steel,  good  master  Reeve." 

Now  from  Giles'  archers  and  divers  others  beside  a  growl 
went  up,  spreading  from  rank  to  rank,  what  time  Bel- 
tane  clenched   his   hands,   frowning  ever  blacker.     Then 


292  Beltane  the  Smith 


forth  stepped  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford  with  tall  Orson,  which 
last  spake  with  voice  uplift : 

"  Master,"  quoth  he,  "  us  do  love  gold  —  but  fighting 
men  us  do  be,  and  if  '  steel '  says  you  — '  steel '  says  we !  " 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Jenkyn,  "  so  look'ee  master,  here  stands 
I  wi'  Orson  my  comrade  look'ee,  for  witness  that  to-day 
we  be  better  men  than  these  growlers." 

But  here,  of  a  sudden,  rose  the  shrill  bray  of  a  trumpet 
without  the  walls,  a  long  flourish,  loud  and  imperious ;  and 
at  the  sound  a  silence  fell,  wherein  divers  of  the  towns- 
folk eyed  each  other  in  fear  swift-born,  and  drew  nearer 
to  the  white-haired  Reeve  who  stood  leaning  heavily  upon 
his  sword,  his  head  stooped  upon  his  broad  chest.  And 
in  the  silence,  Giles  spake: 

*'  Now,  by  the  ever-blessed  Saint  Giles,  there  spake  the 
summons  of  Robert  of  Hurstmanswyke  —  I  know  his  chal- 
lenge of  old  —  ha,  bows  and  bills !  "  So  saying  he  bent 
and  strung  his  bow. 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Roger,  loosening  sword  in  sheath,  "  and 
Sir  Robert  is  a  dour  fighter  I've  heard." 

"  So  soon !  "  groaned  the  Reeve,  "  so  very  soon !  Now 
God  pity  Belsaye !  " 

"  Amen !  "  quoth  Giles,  fidgeting  uneasily  with  his  bow, 
*'  forsooth.  Sir  Robert  is  a  very  potent  lord  —  God  help 
us  all,  say  I !  " 

"  And  Sir  Robert  likewise,"  quoth  Roger,  "  for  methinks 
*  an  he  come  within  Belsaye  he  is  like  to  stay  in  Belsaye  — 
mind  ye  Sir  Gui,  and  mark  ye  my  master's  look !  "  And 
he  pointed  where  Beltane  stood  near  by,  chin  in  fist,  his 
eye  bright  and  purposeful,  his  mouth  grim-smiling;  even 
as  they  watched  he  beckoned  Walkyn  and  Eric  to  him  and 
spake  certain  commands  what  time  the  trumpet  brayed 
again  in  summons  fierce  and  arrogant. 

"  Good  master  Reeve,"  quoth  Beltane,  as  Walkyn  and 
Eric,  obedient  to  his  word,  moved  into  the  square  to  right 
and  left,  each  with  his  company,  "  there  is  one  without 
that  groweth  impatient.  Let  us  therefore  parley  with  him 
from  the  battlement  above  the  gate." 


How  They  Left  Belsaye       293 

"Ah,  messire,"  sighed  the  Reeve,  "to  what  end?  'Tis 
Sir  Robert's  summons,  and  well  I  know  he  will  demand 
speech  with  my  lord  Gui  —  alas  for  us  and  for  Belsaye 
town !  " 

"  Nay,"  answered  Beltane,  "  be  comforted.  Answer  as 
I  shall  direct  and  fear  ye  nothing.     Come  your  ways." 

Now  when  Roger  turned  and  would  have  followed,  Giles 
plucked  him  by  the  arm: 

"  Roger,"  quoth  he,  "  Sir  Robert  will  demand  speech 
of  Gui  of  Allerdale,  mark  ye  that,  my  Rogerkin.  Nor 
will  he  speak  to  any  but  Sir  Gui  —  for  a  great  lord  and 
proud  is  Robert  of  Hurstmanswyke.  Ha,  what  think  ye, 
Roger?  " 

"  I  think  perchance  he  must  go  dumb  then  —  come,  let 
us  follow." 

"  Nay,  but  speak  he  must  —  since  he  may  tell  us  much, 
aye,  and  speak  he  shall.  So  come,  my  Rogerkin,  hither 
with  me !  " 

"  With  thee,  Giles  ?     And  wherefore  ?  " 

"  A  wile,  sweet  Roger,  a  notable  wile  —  a  wile  of  wiles. 
Hush !  speak  not,  but  come  —  for  mark  this : 

"  In  faith  a  cunning  man  is  Giles 
In  counsel  sage  and  full  of  wiles !  " 

*'  So  come,  Rogerkin ! "  So  saying,  he  gripped  stout 
Roger's  arm  and  plunged  into  the  crowd. 

Being  come  out  upon  the  battlement  above  the  gate. 
Beltane,  with  the  Reeve  beside  him,  peering  down  through 
the  dark,  beheld  beyond  the  moat,  a  knight  supported  by 
four  esquires,  and  beyond  these  Beltane  counted  thirty 
lances  what  time  the  Reeve,  steadying  his  voice,  challenged 
them. 

Hereupon  the  knight  spake : 

*'  Ha !  do  ye  stir  at  last,  dogs !  Open  in  the  Duke's 
name  — 'tis  I,  Robert,  lord  of  Hurstmanswyke,  with  mes- 
sage to  the  lord  Seneschal,  Sir  Gui,  and  captives  from 
Bourne ! " 

Then,  grim-smiling  in  the  dusk.  Beltane  spake: 


2  94  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Now  greeting  and  fair  greeting  to  thee,  my  lord,  and 
to  thy  captives.     Hath  Thrasf ordham  fallen  so  soon  ?  " 

"  Thrasfordham,  fool !  'tis  not  yet  invested  —  these  be 
divers  of  Benedict's  spies  out  of  Bourne,  to  grace  thy 
gibbets.  Come,  unbar  —  down  with  the  drawbridge ;  open 
I  say  —  must  I  wait  thy  rogue's  pleasure?  " 

"  Not  so,  noble  lord.  Belsaye  this  night  doth  welcome 
thee  with  open  arms  —  and  ye  be  in  sooth  Sir  Robert  of 
Hurstmanswyke." 

"  Ha,  do  ye  doubt  me,  knave?  Dare  ye  keep  me  with- 
out? Set  wide  the  gates,  and  instantly,  or  I  will  see  thee 
in  a  noose  hereafter.  Open!  Open!  God's  death!  will 
ye  defy  me  ?  gate  ho  !  " 

So  Beltane,  smiling  yet,  descended  from  the  battlement 
and  bade  them  set  wide  the  gates.  Down  creaked  draw- 
bridge ;  bars  fell,  bolts  groaned,  the  massy  gates  swung 
wide  —  and  Sir  Robert  and  his  esquires,  with  his  weary 
captives  stumbling  in  their  jangling  chains,  and  his  thirty 
men-at-arms  riding  two  by  two,  paced  into  Belsaye  market 
square ;  the  drawbridge  rose,  creaking,  while  gates  clashed 
and  bar  and  chain  rattled  ominously  behind  them.  But 
Sir  Robert,  nothing  heeding,  secure  in  his  noble  might, 
scowled  about  him  'neath  lifted  vizor,  and  summoned  the 
Reeve  to  his  stirrup  with  imperious  hand : 

"  How  now,  master  Reeve,"  quoth  he,  "  I  am  in  haste 
to  be  gone:  where  tarries  Sir  Gui?  Have  ye  not  warned 
him  of  my  coming?  Go,  say  I  crave  instant  speech  with 
him  on  matters  of  state,  moreover,  say  I  bring  fifty  and 
three  for  him  to  hang  to-morrow  —  go !  " 

But  now,  while  the  Reeve  yet  stood,  pale  in  the  torch- 
light, finding  nought  to  say,  came  Beltane  beside  him. 

"  My  lord,"  quoth  he,  "  fifty  and  three  is  a  goodly  num- 
ber ;  must  they  all  die  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  To-morrow?     Aye  —  or  whensoever  Sir  Gui  wills." 

"  Ah,  fair  lord,"  says  Beltane,  "  then,  as  I  guess,  these 
fifty  and  three  shall  assuredly  live  on  awhile,  since  Sir  Gui 
of  Allerdale  will  hang  men  no  more." 

"  Ha,  dare  ye  mock  me,  knave?  "  cried  Sir  Robert,  and 


How  They  Left  Belsaye       295 

clenching  iron  hand  he  spurred  upon  Beltane,  but  checked 
as  suddenly,  and  pointed  where,  midst  the  shrinking  popu- 
lace, strode  one  in  knightly  armour,  whose  embroidered 
surcoat  bore  the  arms,  and  whose  vizored  helm  the  crest 
of  Sir  Gui  of  Allerdale.  Now  beholding  this  silent  figure, 
a  groan  of  fear  went  up,  divers  men  sank  crouching  on 
their  knees,  the  Reeve  uttered  a  hoarse  gasp  and  covered 
his  face,  while  even  Beltane,  staring  wide-eyed,  felt  his 
flesh  a-creep.     But  now  Sir  Robert  rode  forward : 

"  Greeting,  lord  Seneschal !  "  said  he,  "  you  come  be- 
times, messire,  though  not  over  hastily,  methinks !  " 

"  Forsooth,"  quoth  the  figure,  his  voice  booming  in  his 
great  war-helm,  "  forsooth  and  verily  there  be  three  things 
no  man  should  leave  in  haste:  videlicit  and  to  wit:  his 
prayers,  his  dinner  and  his  lady.  None  the  less  came  I 
hither  to  give  thee  greeting,  good  my  lord." 

"  My  lord  Seneschal,  what  manner  of  men  be  these  of 
thine?" 

"  O  fair  sir,  they  be  ordinary  men,  rogues,  see  you,  and 
fools  —  save  one,  a  comely  man  this,  an  archer  unequalled, 
hight  Giles  o'  the  Bow,  a  man  qf  wit,  very  full  of  strate- 
gies and  wiles." 

"  Aye,  but  what  of  yon  tall  knave,  now,"  said  Sir 
Robert,  pointing  at  Beltane,  "  who  is  he?  " 

"  Forsooth,  a  knave,  my  lord,  an  arrant  knave  with  long 
legs." 

"  He  will  look  well  on  a  gibbet,  methinks,  Sir  Gui." 
"  Indeed,  my  lord  he  might  grace  the  gallows  as  well  as 
you  or  I." 

"  The  rogue  telleth  me  that  you  will  hang  men  no 
more." 

"  Ha,  said  he  so  forsooth  ?  dared  he  so  asperse  mine 
honour?  Ha,  here  is  matter  for  red-hot  irons,  the  pincers 
and  the  rack,  anon.  But  come.  Sir  Robert  —  thou  dost 
bear  news,  belike;  come  your  ways  and  drink  a  goblet  of 
wine." 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  I  thank  thee,  but  I  must  hence  this  night 
to  Barham  Broom.     But  for  my  news,  'tis  this:  the  out- 


296 


Beltane  the  Smith 


law  men  call  Beltane,  hath,  by  devilish  arts,  sacked  and 
burned  Garthlaxton  Keep." 

"  Why,  this  I  knew ;  there  is  a  lewd  song  already  made 
thereon,  as  thus : 

"  They  gave  Garthlaxton  to  the  flame, 
Be  glory  to  Duke  Beltane's  name, 
And  unto  lusty  Giles  the  same, 
Dixit!  " 

"  Forsooth,  a  naughty  song,  a  very  gallows'  song,  in  faith. 
Pray  you,  what  more?  " 

"  There  hath  come  unto  the  Duke  one  hight  Gurth  —  a 
hang-dog  rogue  that  doth  profess  to  know  the  lurking- 
place  of  this  vile  outlaw,  and  to-morrow  at  sunset.  Sir 
Pertolepe  and  I  with  goodly  force  march  into  the  green. 
So  now  must  I  hence,  leaving  with  thee  these  captives 
from  Bourne  that  you  shall  hang  above  the  walls  for  a 
warning  to  all  such  outlaws  and  traitors.  Lastly,  my 
lord  Seneschal,  drink  not  so  deep  a-nights,  and  so,  fare 
thee  well." 

Now  as  he  yet  spake  rose  the  shrill  notes  of  a  horn, 
and  turning  about,  Sir  Robert  beheld  men  whose  mail 
glistened  in  the  torchlight  and  whose  long  pikes  hemmed 
him  in  close  and  closer  what  time  a  fierce  shout  went  up: 
*'  Kill !  "     "  Kill !  " 

"  Ho,  treason !  "  he  roared,  and  grasped  at  his  sword 
hilt ;  but  down  came  Roger's  heavy  broadsword  upoli 
Sir  Robert's  helm,  beating  him  to  earth  where  Walkyn's 
mighty  foot  crushed  him  down  and  his  axe  gleamed 
bright.  Then,  while  the  air  rang  with  shouts  and  cries 
and  the  clatter  of  trampling  hoofs,  a  white  figure  leapt 
and  bestrode  the  fallen  knight,  and  Walkyn  glared  down 
into  the  pale  face  of  Friar  Martin. 

"  Forbear,  Walkyn,  forbear ! "  he  cried,  and  speaking, 
staggered  for  very  weakness  and  would  have  fallen  but 
Walkyn's  long  arm  was  about  him.  And  ever  the  uproar 
grew ;  the  grim  ranks  of  archers  and  pikemen  drew  closer 
about  Sir  Robert's  shrinking  men-at-arms  what  time  the 


How  They  Left  Belsaye       297 

townsfolk,  brandishing  their  weapons,  shouted  amain, 
"  Kill !     Kill !  " 

Now  Roger's  blow  had  been  full  lusty  and  Sir  Robert 
yet  lay  a-swoon,  seeing  which,  divers  of  his  company,  cast- 
ing down  their  arms,  cried  aloud  for  quarter;  whereat 
the  townsfolk  shouted  but  the  fiercer :  "  Slay  them ! 
Kill !  Kill ! "  But  now,  high  above  this  clamour,  rose 
the  shrill  note  of  Beltane's  horn  bidding  all  men  to  si- 
lence. Hereupon  there  came  to  him  the  white  friar,  who, 
looking  earnestly  upon  his  mailed  face,  uttered  a  sudden 
glad  cry  and  caught  his  hand  and  kissed  it;  then  turned 
he  to  the  surging  concourse  and  spake  loud  and  joy- 
ously : 

"  Stay,  good  people  of  Belsaye !  O  ye  children  of 
affliction,  spill  not  the  blood  of  these  thine  enemies,  but 
look,  rather,  upon  this  man!  For  this  is  he  of  whom  I 
told  ye  hi  the  days  of  your  tribulation,  this  is  he  who 
burned  the  shameful  gallows,  who  brake  open  the  dungeon 
and  hath  vowed  his  life  to  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  and 
weak.  Behold  now  the  son  of  Beltane  the  Strong  and 
Just  1  Behold  Beltane,  our  rightful  Duke !  "  Now  went 
there  up  to  heaven  a  great  and  wild  acclaim ;  shouts  of 
joy  and  the  thunderous  battle-cry  "Arise!  Arise! 
Pentavalon !  "  Then,  while  all  eyes  beheld  and  all  ears 
hearkened.  Beltane  spake  him,  plain  and  to  the  point, 
as  was  his  custom : 

"  Behold  now,  men  of  Belsaye,  these  our  enemies  do 
cry  us  mercy,  and  shall  we  not  bestow  it?  Moreover 
one  living  hostage  is  better  than  two  foemen  slain.  En- 
treat them  gently,  therefore,  but  let  me  see  them  lodged 
secure  ere  I  march  hence." 

But  hereupon  came  many  of  the  townsfolk  with  divers 
counsellors  and  chief  men  of  the  city  who,  kneeling,  most 
earnestly  prayed  Beltane  to  abide  for  their  defence. 

"  Good  my  lord,"  quoth  the  Reeve,  "  bethink  thee, 
when  Duke  Ivo  shall  hear  of  our  doings  he  will  seek  bitter 
vengeance.  Ah,  my  lord,  'twas  but  five  years  agone  he 
stormed  Belsaye  and  gave  it  up  to  pillage  —  and  on  that 


298  Beltane  the  Smith 

day  —  my  wife  —  was  slain !  And  when  he  had  set  up 
his  great  gallows  and  hanged  it  full  with  our  men,  he 
vowed  that,  should  Belsaye  anger  him  again,  he  would 
burn  the  city  and  all  within  it  and,  O  my  lord,  my  lord 

—  I  have  yet  a  daughter  —  Ah,  good  my  lord,  leave  us 
not  to  ravishment  and  death !  " 

"  Aye,  go  not  from  us,  my  lord ! "  cried  the  others. 
"  Be  thou  our  leader  henceforth !  "  and  thereto  they  be- 
sought him  with  eager  cries  and  with  hands  outstretched. 

But  Beltane  shook  his  head ;  quoth  he : 

"  Look  now,  as  men  are  born  into  the  world  but  for 
the  good  of  man,  so  must  I  to  my  duty.  And  methinks, 
this  is  my  duty :  to  do  such  deeds  as  shall  ring  throughout 
this  sorrowful  Duchy  like  a  trumpet-blast,  bidding  all 
men  arise  and  take  hold  upon  their  manhood.  Garth- 
laxton  is  no  more,  but  there  be  many  castles  yet  to  burn 
whose  flames,  perchance,  shall  light  such  a  fire  within 
the  souls  of  men  as  shall  ne'er  be  quenched  until  Wrong 
and  Tyranny  be  done  away.  So  must  I  back  to  the 
wild-wood  to  wild  and  desperate  doings.     But,  as  for  ye 

—  I  have  heard  tell  that  the  men  of  Belsaye  are  brave 
and  resolute.  Let  now  the  memory  of  wrongs  endured 
make  ye  trebly  valiant  to  maintain  your  new-got  liberty. 
If  Duke  Ivo  come,  then  let  your  walls  be  manned,  for 
'tis  better  to  die  free  men  than  trust  again  to  his  mercy." 

"  Verily,  lord,"  said  the  Reeve,  "  but  we  do  lack  for 
leaders.  Our  provost  and  all  our  captains  Duke  Ivo 
hanged  upon  his  gallows.  Beseech  thee,  then,  give  to  us 
a  leader  cunning  in  war." 

"  That  will  I,"  answered  Beltane,  "  on  this  condition 

—  that  every  able  man  shall  muster  under  arms  each 
day  within  the  market-square." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  my  lord." 

Then  summoned  he  Eric  of  the  wry  neck,  together  with 
Giles  who  came  forthwith,  being  yet  bedight  in  Sir  Gui's 
harness. 

"  Eric,  I  have  marked  thee  well ;  methinks  thou  art 
one  long  bred  to  arms  and  learned  in  war?  " 


How  They  Left  Belsaye       299 

"  My  lord  Beltane,  in  other  days  I  was  the  Duke  thy 
father's  High  Constable  of  all  the  coast-wise  towns." 

"  Ha  —  say'st  thou  so  in  sooth?  Then  now  do  I  make 
thee  lord  Constable  of  Belsaye.  As  to  thee,  Giles,  thou 
guileful  rogue,  hast  full  oft  vaunted  thyself  a  soldier  of 
experience,  so  now  am  I  minded  to  prove  thee  and  thy 
methods.  How  if  I  give  thee  charge  over  the  bowmen 
of  Belsaye?  " 

"  Why  first,  sweet,  tall  brother,  first  will  I  teach  them 
to  draw  a  bow,  pluck  a  string,  and  speed  a  shaft  as  never 
townsman  drew,  plucked  or  sped  —  in  fine,  I  will  teach 
them  to  shoot:  and,  thereafter,  devoutly  pray  the  good 
Saint  Giles  (that  is  my  patron  saint)  to  send  us  Black 
Ivo  and  his  dogs  to  shoot  at !  " 

"  So  be  it.  Choose  ye  now  each  ten  men  of  your  com- 
panies that  shall  abide  here  with  ye  what  time  I  am  away 
—  yet  first  mark  this :  In  your  hands  do  I  leave  this 
fair  city,  to  your  care  I  give  the  lives  and  well-being  of 
all  these  men  and  women  and  children.  Come  now,  lay 
here  your  hands  upon  my  sword  and  swear  me  to  main- 
tain Belsaye  to  the  last  man  'gainst  siege  or  storm,  so 
long  as  life  be  in  you !  " 

Now  when  they  had  sworn.  Beltane  turned  him  to  the 
Reeve : 

"  Good  sir,"  quoth  he,  "  I  pray  you  loose  now  the  cap- 
tives from  their  chains.  Let  your  prisoners  be  secured, 
and  for  the  rest,  let  us  now  eat  and  drink  lest  we  famish." 

Thus  in  a  while.  Sir  Robert  of  Hurstmanswyke,  dazed 
and  bewildered,  and  his  four  esquires,  together  with  his 
thirty  men-at-arms,  stripped  of  armour  and  weapons,  were 
led  away  and  lodged  secure  beneath  the  keep. 

Now  it  chanced  that  as  Beltane  stood  apart  with  head 
a-droop  as  one  in  thought,  there  came  to  him  Sir  Fidelis 
and  touched  him  with  gentle  hand. 

"My  lord  Beltane,"  said  he  softly,  "of  what  think 
you?  " 

"  Of  Pentavalon,  and  how  soonest  her  sorrows  may  be 
done  away." 


300  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Lovest  thou  Pentavalon  indeed,  messire?" 

*'  Aye,  truly,  Fidelis." 

"  Then  wherefore  let  her  suffer  longer?  " 

"  Suffer?  Aye,  there  it  is  —  but  how  may  I  bring  her 
woes  to  sudden  end?  I  am  too  weak,  her  oppressors 
many,  and  my  men  but  few  — " 

"Few?"  quoth  Sir  Fidelis,  speaking  with  head  low- 
stooped.  "  Few,  messire?  Not  so.  Ten  thousand 
lances  might  follow  thee  to-morrow  an  thou  but  spake 
the  word  — " 

"  Nay,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  mock  me  not,  good  Fidelis, 
thou  dost  know  me  a  lonely  man  and  friendless  —  to 
whom  should  I  speak?  " 

"  To  one  that  loveth  thee  now  as  ever,  to  one  that 
yearneth  for  thee  with  heart  nigh  to  breaking  —  to 
Helen  — " 

*'  Ah ! "  quoth  Beltane,  slow  and  bitter,  *'  speak  word 
to  Helen  the  Beautiful  —  the  Wilful  —  the  Wanton?  No, 
a  thousand  times !  Rather  would  I  perish,  I  and  all  my 
hopes,  than  seek  aid  of  such  as  she  — " 

"Lovest  thou  Pentavalon  indeed,  messire?  Nay,  me- 
thinks  better  far  thou  dost  love  thy  cold  and  cruel  pride 
—  so  must  Pentavalon  endure  her  grievous  wrongs,  and 
so  do  I  pity  her,  but  —  most  of  all  —  I  pity  thee,  mes- 
sire !  " 

Now  would  Beltane  have  answered  but  found  no  word, 
and  therefore  fell  to  black  and  bitter  anger,  and,  turning 
on  his  heel,  incontinent  strode  away  into  the  council-hall 
where  a  banquet  had  been  spread.  Frowning,  he  ate  and 
drank  in  haste,  scarce  heeding  the  words  addressed  to  him, 
wherefore  others  grew  silent  also ;  and  thereafter,  his 
hunger  assuaged,  strode  he  out  into  the  square  and  sum- 
moned his  company. 

"  Men  of  Pentavalon,"  spake  he  loud  and  quick, 
'*  howso  poor  and  humble  ye  be,  henceforth  ye  shall  go, 
each  and  every,  equipped  in  knightly  mail  from  foot  to 
head,  your  man's  flesh  as  secure  as  flesh  of  any  potent 
lord  or  noble  of  them  all.     Henceforth  each  man  of  us 


How  They  Left  Belsaye       301 

must  fight  as  valiantly  as  ten.  Now,  if  any  there  be 
who  know  the  manage  of  horse  and  lance,  let  him  step 
forth."  Hereupon  divers  stepped  out  of  the  ranks,  and 
Beltane  counted  of  these  fifty  and  two. 

"  Master  Reeve,"  spake  Beltane,  "  give  now  for  guer- 
don instead  of  gold,  horses  and  equipment  for  these  my 
comrades,  stout  lances  and  mail  complete  with  goodly 
bascinets." 

"  It  shall  be  done,  my  lord." 

"  Roger,  in  thy  command  I  set  these  fifty  lances.  See 
now  to  their  arming,  let  them  be  mounted  and  ready  with 
speed,  for  in  this  hour  we  ride." 

"  Aye,  master,"  cried  Roger,  his  eyes  a-dance,  "  that 
will  I,  moreover  — " 

"  Walkyn,  to  thee  I  give  the  pikes  henceforth.  As  for 
our  archers  —  Giles,  which  now  think  you  fittest  to  com- 
mand? " 

"  Why  truly,  brother  —  my  lord,  if  one  there  be  can 
twang  a  lusty  bow  and  hath  a  cool  and  soldier-like  head 
'tis  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford,  and  after  him  Walcher,  and  after 
him  — " 

"  Jenkyn,  do  you  henceforth  look  to  our  archers.  Are 
these  matters  heard  and  known  among  ye.^*  " 

"  Aye !  "  came  the  thunderous  answer. 

"  'Tis  well,  for  mark  me,  we  go  out  to  desperate  doings, 
wherein  obedience  must  be  instant,  wherein  all  must  love 
like  brothers,  and,  like  brothers,  fight  shoulder  to 
shoulder !  " 

Now  came  there  certain  of  the  citizens  to  Beltane,  lead- 
ing a  great  and  noble  war-horse,  richly  caparisoned,  meet 
for  his  acceptance.  And  thus,  ere  the  moon  rose, 
equipped  with  lance  and  shield  and  ponderous,  vizored 
casque.  Beltane,  gloomy  and  silent,  with  Sir  Fidelis 
mounted  beside  him,  rode  forth  at  the  head  of  his  grim 
array,  at  whose  tramp  and  jingle  the  folk  of  Belsaye 
shouted  joyful  acclaim  while  the  bells  rang  out  right 
joyously. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

OF  beltane's  black  and  evil  mood,  and  how  he  fell 

IN   WITH   THE   WITCH    OF    HANGSTONE    WASTE 

It  was  very  dark  upon  the  forest  road,  where  trees  loomed 
gigantic  against  the  pitchy  gloom  wherein  dim-seen 
branches  creaked  and  swayed,  and  leaves  rustled  faint  and 
fitful  in  the  stealthy  night-wind ;  and  through  the  gloom 
at  the  head  of  his  silent  company  Beltane  rode  in  frown- 
ing thought,  his  humour  blacker  than  the  night. 

Now  in  a  while,  Sir  Fidelis,  riding  ever  at  his  elbow, 
ventured  speech  with  him: 

"  Art  very  silent,  messire.  Have  I  angered  thee,  for- 
sooth?    Is  aught  amiss  betwixt  us?" 

Quoth  Beltane,  shortly: 

"  Art  over-young,  sir  knight,  and  therefore  fond  and 
foolish.  Is  a  man  a  lover  of  self  because  he  hateth  dis- 
honour?    Art     a     presumptuous      youth  —  and     that's 


amiss 


I  " 


"  Art  thou  so  ancient,  messire,  and  therefore  so  wise 
as  to  judge  'twixt  thy  hates  and  loves  and  the  abiding 
sorrows  of  Pentavalon?  "  questioned  Fidelis,  low-voiced 
and  gentle. 

"  Old  enough  am  I  to  know  that  in  all  this  world  is 
no  baser  thing  than  the  treachery  of  a  faithless  woman, 
and  that  he  who  seeketh  aid  of  such,  e'en  though  his  cause 
be  just,  dishonoureth  himself  and  eke  his  cause.  So  God 
keep  me  from  all  women  henceforth  —  and  as  for  thee, 
speak  me  no  more  the  name  of  this  light  wanton." 

"  My  lord,"  quoth  Sir  Fidelis,  leaning  near,  "  my  lord 
—  whom  mean  you?" 

"  Whom  should  I  mean  but  Mortain  Helen  —  Helen 
the  Beautiful—" 


of  Beltane's  Black  Mood       303 

Now  cried  Sir  Fidelis  as  one  that  feels  a  blow,  and,  in 
the  dark,  he  seized  Beltane  in  sudden  griping  fingers,  and 
shook  him  fiercely. 

"  And  dare  ye  name  her  '  wanton  ! '  "  he  cried.  "  Ye 
shall  not  —  I  say  ye  shall  not !  "  But,  laughing.  Beltane 
smote  away  the  young  knight's  hold  and  laughed  again. 

'•  Is  this  light  lady's  fame  so  dear  to  thee,  poor,  youth- 
ful fool  ?  "  said  he.  "  Aye  me !  doubt  not  her  falsity  shall 
break  thy  heart  some  day  and  teach  thee  wisdom  — " 

A  shout  among  the  woods  upon  their  right,  a  twinkling 
light  that  came  and  went  amid  the  underbrush,  and 
Walkyn  appeared,  bearing  a  lighted  brand. 

"  Lord,"  he  growled,  "  here  has  been  devil's  work  of 
late,  for  yonder  a  cottage  lieth  a  heap  of  glowing  ashes, 
and  upon  a  tree  hard  by  a  dead  man  doth  swing." 

*' Learned  ye  aught  else,  Walkyn?" 

"  Nothing,  save  that  a  large  company  passed  here  yes- 
terday as  I  judge.  Horse  and  foot  —  going  south,  see 
you,"  and  he  held  his  torch  to  the  trampled  road. 

"  Going  south  —  aye,  Walkyn,  to  Barham  Broom,  me- 
thinks.  Here  is  another  debt  shall  yet  be  paid  in  full, 
mayhap,"  quoth  Beltane  grimly.     "  Forward  !  " 

The  jingling  column  moved  on  again,  yet  had  gone  but 
a  little  way  when  Sir  Fidelis,  uttering  a  cry,  swerved  his 
horse  suddenly  and  sprang  to  earth. 

"  What  now  ?  "  questioned  Beltane,  staring  into  the 
murk. 

"  INIy  lord  —  my  lord,  a  woman  lieth  here,  and  —  ah, 
messire  —  she  is  dead !  " 

"0,  a  woman?"  quoth  Beltane,  "and  dead,  say  you? 
Why  then,  the  world  shall  know  less  of  evil  and  treachery, 
methinks.  Come  —  mount,  sir  knight,  mount,  I  say,  and 
let  us  on  !  " 

But  Sir  Fidelis,  on  his  knees  beside  that  silent,  dim-seen 
form,  heeded  him  not  at  all,  and  with  reverent,  folded 
hands,  and  soft  and  tender  voice,  spake  a  prayer  for  the 
departed  soul.  Now  hereupon  Beltane  knew  sudden 
shame  and  sv»aft  remorse,  and  bowed  his  head  also,  and 


304  Beltane  the  Smith 

would  have  prayed  —  yet  could  not ;  wherefore  his  black 
mood  deepened  and  his  anger  grew  more  bitter. 

"  Mount,  mount,  sir  knight !  "  cried  he  harshly.  "  Bet- 
ter to  seek  vengeance  dire  than  mumble  on  thy  knees  — 
mount,  I  say !  " 

Forthwith  Sir  Fidelis  arose,  nothing  speaking,  and  being 
in  the  saddle,  reined  back  and  suffered  Beltane  to  ride 
alone.  But  in  a  while,  Beltane  perceiving  himself  thus 
shunned,  found  therein  a  new  grievance  and  fiercely  sum- 
moned Sir  Fidelis  beside  him. 

"  Wherefore  slink  ye  behind  me?  "  he  demanded. 

Then  spake  Sir  Fidelis  in  voice  full  low  and  troubled: 

"  My  lord  Beltane,  'twas  said  thou  wert  a  noble  knight 

—  very  strong  and  very  gentle  — " 

"  Ha !  dost  think  such  report  a  lie,  mayhap  ?  " 
,    "  Alas  !  "  sighed  the  young  knight ;  and  again  "  alas  1 " 
and  therewith  a  great  sob  brake  from  him. 

Of  a  sudden,  from  the  gloom  beside  the  way  rose  a 
woman's  scream,  and  thereafter  a  great  and  fierce  roar; 
and  presently  came  Walkyn  with  his  torch  and  divers  of 
his  men,  dragging  a  woman  in  their  midst,  and  lo !  it  was 
the  witch  of  Hangstone  Waste. 

Now  she,  beholding  Beltane's  face  beneath  his  lifted 
vizor,  cried  out  for  very  joy: 

"  Now  heaven  bless  thee,  Duke  Beltane !     Ah,  my  lord 

—  hear  me !  " 

"  What  would  ye .''     What  seek  ye  of  such  as  I  ?  " 
^    But  hereupon  Black  Roger  spurred  beside  Beltane,  his 
eyes  wide  and  fearful  in  the  shadow  of  his  helm,  his  strong, 
mailed  hand  a-tremble  on  Beltane's  arm. 

"  Beware,  my  lord,  beware !  "  he  cried,  "  'tis  nigh  the 
midnight  hour  and  she  a  noted  witch  —  heed  her  not  lest 
she  blight  thy  fair  body,  lest  she  — " 

"  Peace,  Roger !  Now  speak,  woman  —  what  would 
ye?" 

"  A  life,  my  lord !  " 

"  Ah,  the  blessed  saints  forfend  —  I  feared  so ! " 
gasped  Roger. 


of  Beltane's  Black  Mood       305 

But  now  the  witch  turned  and  looked  on  Roger,  and 
he  incontinent  crossed  himself  and  fell  thenceforth  to 
mumbling  prayers  beneath  his  breath. 

"  Lord  Duke,  for  that  I  am  but  a  woman  poor  and 
helpless,  now  would  I  beseech  thine  aid  for  — " 

"Nay,  tell  me  first,  whence  come  ye?" 

"  From  Barham  Broom,  messire.  Ah !  spare  aid  for 
one  that  lieth  in  peril  of  death  —  the  maid  Mellent  — • 
they  do  proclaim  her  witch  —  they  will  burn  her  — " 

"  O  —  a  woman !  "  quoth  Beltane,  wrinkling  his  brows ; 
and  beholding  Sir  Fidelis  watching  him,  straightway 
frowned  the  blacker. 

*'  Nay,  messire,  hear  me ! "  cried  the  witch,  "  ah,  turn 
not  away !  This  maid,  indeed,  is  not  of  common  blood  — ■ 
a  lady  is  she  of  birth  and  wide  demesnes  — " 

"  Why  then,"  said  Beltane,  heedful  ever  of  the  young 
knight's  burning  glance,  "  why  then  is  she  more  apt  for 
treachery  and  evil." 

"  Not  so,  my  lord ;  weak  is  she  and  beset  by  cruel  ene- 
mies. I  found  her,  a  stranger,  wandering  lonely  in  the 
green,  and  she,  being  sick  of  heart  and  brain,  spake  wild 
words  of  a  great  wrong,  vainly  done  and  suffered,  and 
of  an  abiding  remorse.  And  when  I  had  nursed  her 
into  health  she  told  me  a  wondrous  tale.  So,  lord  Bel- 
tane, do  I  know  that  in  her  hands  thy  happiness  doth 
lie." 

"  Not  so ! "  sighed  Beltane.  "  Happiness  and  I  are 
strangers  henceforth  — " 

But  here  once  again  came  a  hoarse  and  angry  roar  with 
the  sound  of  desperate  struggling  amid  the  leaves  hard 
by,  whence  came  Jenkyn  and  Orson  with  divers  others, 
dragging  a  strange,  hairy,  dwarf-like  creature,  great  and 
shaggy  of  head  and  with  the  arms  and  shoulders  of  a 
giant;  smirched  was  he  in  blood  from  a  great  wound 
above  the  brow  and  his  rich  habit  was  mired  and  torn. 
Now  looking  upon  this  monstrous  creature  that  writhed 
and  struggled  mightily  with  his  captors,  groaning  and 
roaring  betimes,  Beltane  felt  his  flesh  a-creep  with  swift 


3o6 


Beltane  the  Smith 


and  pregnant  memory,  and  straightway  beset  the  witch 
with  fierce  question: 

"Woman,  what  thing  is  this?" 

"  My  lord,  'tis  naught  but  poor  Ulf,  a  natural,  mes- 
sire,  very  strong  and  faithful,  that  hath  fought  mightily 
and  is  nigh  slain  in  our  defence  —  see  how  he  bleeds ! 
Let  them  not  harm  him,  my  lord !  " 

"  Yet  have  I  seen  him  ere  this,  methinks." 

"  But  for  the  maid  Mellent  —  thou  wilt  not  let  her  burn 
—  and  for  thy  deeds?  " 

*'  Mine,  forsooth !     How  mean  you  ?  " 

"  'Twas  yester-eve  we  were  beset  hereabouts  by  a  lewd 
company,  and  brought  unto  their  lord.  Sir  Gilles  of 
Brandonmere  —  a  man  beyond  all  other  men  base  and 
vile  —  who,  beholding  her  so  young  and  fair  would  have 
forced  her  to  his  will." 

"  Ha !  —  methinks  Sir  Gilles  doth  live  too  long !  " 

"  So  to  save  her  from  his  violence,  I  discovered  to  him 
her  name  and  high  estate,  whereupon  at  first  he  would 
fain  have  her  wed  with  him.  But,  angered  by  her  scorn, 
he  bore  her  with  him  to  Duke  Ivo  at  Barham  Broom,  and 
me  also.  And  there  I  heard  her  denounced  as  witch,  by 
whose  spells  thou,  lord  Beltane,  wert  freed  of  thy  duress 
and  Garthlaxton  utterly  destroyed.  Thus,  to-morrow 
she  must  burn,  unless  one  can  be  found  to  champion  her 
cause  and  prove  her  innocent  by  trial  of  combat.  So, 
when  they  had  let  me  go  I  came  seeking  thee,  my  lord, 
since  'tis  said  thou  art  a  very  strong  man  and  swift  to 
aid  the  defenceless."  Now  glancing  aside  upon  Sir  Fi- 
delis.  Beltane  beheld  him  leaning  forward  with  his  lips 
apart  and  slender  hands  tight-clasped;  whereupon  he 
frowned  and  shook  his  head. 

"  A  woman !  "  quoth  he,  "  nay,  I  had  rather  fight  in 
a  dog's  cause." 

"  Forsooth ! "  cried  Roger,  "  for  rogue  is  he  and  fool 
that  would  champion  a  vile  witch." 

"  Why,  then,  let  us  on,  lord,"  growled  Walkyn.  "  Why 
tarry  we  here?  " 


of  Beltane's  Black  Mood       307 

But  now,  as  the  witch  sank  upon  the  road  with  pleading 
hands  uplifted,  Sir  Fidelis  rode  beside  her  and,  stooping, 
caught  her  outstretched  hands ;  quoth  he : 

"  Of  what  avail  to  plead  with  such  as  these?  So  will  I 
adventure  me  on  behalf  of  this  poor  maid." 

"  Enough !  "  cried  Beltane.  "  Walkyn,  march  ye  one 
and  all  for  Hundleby  Fen  —  wait  me  there  and  let  your 
watch  be  strict.  But,  an  I  come  not  within  two  days  from 
now,  then  hie  you  each  and  every  to  reinforce  Eric  and 
Giles  in  Belsaye.  As  for  Roger,  he  rideth  with  me  to 
Barham  Broom." 

"Ha,  lord!  —  wilt  fight,  then,  in  the  witch's  cause.'*" 
cried  Walkyn. 

"  Aye,  forsooth,  though  —  forsooth  I  had  rather  fight 
in  a  dog's  cause,  for  a  dog,  see  you,  is  a  faithful  beast." 

"  To  Barham  Broom.''  "  quoth  Roger,  staring.  "  Thou 
and  I,  master,  to  Black  Ivo  —  alone.?"  And  speaking, 
he  loosened  sword  in  scabbard. 

"  My  lord  Beltane,"  cried  Sir  Fidelis,  beholding  him 
with  shining  eyes,  "  an  thou  wilt  do  this  noble  thing, 
suffer  me  beside  thee !  " 

"  Not  so,  messire,"  answered  Beltane,  shaking  his  head, 
"  art  over  young  and  tender,  methinks  —  go,  get  thee 
back  to  her  that  sent  thee  —  keep  thou  thy  fond  and 
foolish  dream,  and  may  thy  gentle  heart  go  unbroken. 
Come,  Roger !  " 

So  saying.  Beltane  wheeled  about  and  rode  away  with 
Roger  at  his  heels. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

HOW    BELTANE    FOUGHT    FOB   ONE   MELLENT    THAT   WAS 
A   WITCH 

Barham  Broom  was  gay  with  the  stir  of  flags  and  stream- 
ers, where,  above  broidered  pavilion  and  silken  tent,  pen- 
nons and  banderoles,  penoncels  and  gonfalons  fluttered 
and  flew,  beyond  which  long  lines  of  smaller  tents  stretched 
away  north  and  south,  east  and  west,  and  made  up  the 
camp  of  my  lord  Duke  Ivo. 

Beyond  the  confines  of  this  great  and  goodly  camp  the 
lists  had  been  formed,  and  here  from  earliest  dawn  a  great 
concourse  had  been  gathering;  villein  and  vassal,  serf  and 
freedman  from  town  and  village:  noble  lords  and  ladies 
fair  from  castle  hall  and  perfumed  bower,  all  were  here, 
for  to-day  a  witch  was  to  die  —  to-day,  from  her  tor- 
tured flesh  the  flame  was  to  drive  forth  and  exorcize,  once 
and  for  all,  the  demon  who  possessed  her,  by  whose  vile 
aid  she  wrought  her  charms  and  spells.  So  country 
wenches  pushed  and  strove  amid  the  throng,  and  dainty 
ladies  leaned  from  canopied  galleries  to  shudder  with 
dread  or  trill  soft  laughter;  but  each  and  every  stared  at 
one  who  stood  alone,  'twixt  armed  guards,  so  young  and 
fair  and  pale  within  her  bonds,  oft  turning  piteous  face 
to  heaven  or  looking  with  quailing  eye  where  stake  and 
chain  and  faggot  menaced  her  with  awful  doom.  And 
ever  the  kindly  sun  rose  high  and  higher,  and  ever  the 
staring  concourse  grew. 

Now,  of  a  sudden  the  clarions  rang  out  a  point  of  war, 
and  all  voices  were  hushed,  as,  forth  into  the  lists,  upon 
his  richly-caparisoned  charger,  my  lord  Duke  Ivo  rode, 
followed  by  his  chiefest  lords  and  barons ;  and  as  he  rode, 
he  smiled  to  himself  full  oft  as  one  that  meditates  a  hidden 


How  Beltane  Fought  for  a  Witch      309 

jest.  Being  come  where  the  witch  stood,  her  disordered 
garments  rent  by  vicious  handling,  striving  to  veil  her 
beauty  in  her  long,  dark  hair,  my  lord  Duke  reined  in  his 
pawing  steed  to  sit  a  while  and  look  down  at  her  'neath 
sleepy  lids ;  and,  ever  as  he  looked,  his  arching  nostrils 
fluttered  above  curling  lip,  and  ever  he  fingered  his  long, 
blue-shaven  chin. 

"  Alack ! "  cried  he  at  last,  "  'tis  a  comely  wench,  and 
full  young,  methinks,  to  die  so  soon!  But  witchcraft  is 
a  deadly  sin,  abhorred  by  man  and  hateful  unto  God  — " 

"  My  lord  —  my  lord,"  spake  the  witch  swift  and  pas- 
sionate yet  trembling  'neath  his  sleepy  gaze,  "  thou  know- 
est  I  am  no  witch  indeed  —  thou  knowest  — " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  quoth  the  Duke,  shaking  his  head,  and 
coming  more  near  he  stooped  and  spake  her,  low-voiced, 
'*  nay,  she  thou  would'st  name  was  a  lady  proud,  soft  and 
white,  with  hair  bright  and  glorious  as  the  sun  —  in  sooth 
a  fair  lady  —  yet  something  too  ambitious.  But  thou, 
though  of  her  size  and  shape,  art  of  a  dark  and  swarthy 
hue  and  thy  hair  black,  meseemeth.  Of  a  verity  thou  art 
only  the  witch  Mellent,  and  so,  by  reason  of  thy  sun- 
browned  skin  and  raven  hair  —  aye,  and  for  thy  witch- 
craft —  thou,  alack !  must  die  —  unless  thou  find  thee  a 
champion.  Verily  I  fear  me  no  man  will  dare  take  up 
thy  cause,  for  Sir  Gilles  is  a  lusty  man  and  famous  at 
the  joust.  Moreover  —  my  will  is  known  in  the  matter, 
so  do  I  fear  there  none  shall  come  to  fight  on  thy  behalf. 
Alack !  that  one  should  die  so  young ! " 

"  Ah,  my  lord  —  my  lord  Ivo,"  she  whispered,  eager 
and  breathless,  "  show  me  a  little  mercy.  For  that,  to 
be  thy  Duchess,  I  denied  thee  thy  desire  in  the  past,  let 
me  now  be  prisoned  all  my  days,  an  it  be  thy  will  —  but 
give  me  not  to  the  fire  —  ah,  God  —  not  the  fire !  Pity 
—  pity  me  for  what  I  did  for  thee  —  be  merciful  — " 

"  Did,  wench  —  did  ?  "  quoth  the  Duke,  gently.  "  Now 
when  spake  I  with  witch  ere  this?  'Tis  true  there  was  a 
lady  —  something  of  thy  seeming  —  who,  to  gain  much, 
promised  much,  and  —  achieved  me  nothing.     So  now  do 


3  I  o  Beltane  the  Smith 

I  know  thee  for  one  Mellent,  a  notable  witch,  that  shall 
this  day  instead  of  ducal  crown,  wear  crown  of  flame. 
Alack !  —  and  so,  farewell !  " 

Thus  speaking,  my  lord  Duke  rode  on  up  the  lists, 
where  stood  certain  noble  lords  to  hold  his  stirrup  and 
aid  him  to  earth;  so  mounted  he  to  his  place  'neath  broi- 
dered  canopy,  and  many  a  fair  cheek  blanched,  and  many 
a  stout  knight  faltered  in  his  speech,  beholding  that  slow- 
creeping,  stealthy  smile  and  the  twitch  of  those  thin  nos- 
trils. 

Now  once  again  the  trumpet  blew,  and  a  herald  stepped 
forth : 

"  God  save  ye,  lord  Duke,"  he  cried,  "  ye  noble  lords 
and  ladies  fair  —  good  people  all,  God  save  ye.  Know 
that  before  you  here  assembled,  hath  been  brought  one 
Mellent  —  that  hath  been  denounced  a  notable  witch  and 
sorceress,  who,  by  her  fiendish  arts  and  by  the  aid  of 
demons  foul  and  damned,  doth  seek  the  hurt  of  our  lord 
the  Duke,  whom  God  and  the  saints  defend.  Forasmuch 
as  this  witch,  yclept  Mellent,  did,  by  her  unhallowed 
spells  and  magic,  compass  and  bring  about  the  escape 
from  close  duress  of  one  Beltane,  a  notable  outlaw,  male- 
factor and  enemy  to  our  lord  the  Duke ;  and  whereas  she 
did  also  by  aid  of  charms,  incantations  and  the  like  devil- 
ish practices,  contrive  the  sack,  burning  and  total  de- 
struction of  my  lord  Duke's  good  and  fair  castle  of  Garth- 
laxton  upon  the  March.  Now  therefore  it  is  adjudged 
that  she  be  taken  and  her  body  burned  to  ashes  here  before 
you.  All  of  which  charges  have  been  set  forth  and  sworn 
to  by  this  right  noble  lord  and  gallant  knight  Sir  Gilles 
of  Brandonmere  —  behold  him  here  in  person." 

Hereupon,  while  the  trumpets  brayed  a  flourish  and  fan- 
fare, forth  rode  Sir  Gilles  upon  a  mighty  charger,  a 
grim  and  warlike  figure  in  his  shining  mail  and  blazoned 
surcoat,  his  ponderous,  crested  war-helm  closed,  his  long 
shield  covering  him  from  shoulder  to  stirrup,  and  his  lance- 
point  twinkling  on  high. 

Then  spake  again  the  herald  loud  and  clear: 


How  Beltane  Fought  for  a  Witch      311 

"  Good  people  all,  behold  Sir  Gilles  of  Brandonmere, 
who  cometh  here  before  you  prepared  to  maintain  the 
truth  and  justice  of  the  charges  he  hath  made  —  unto 
the  death,  'gainst  any  man  soever,  on  horse  or  on  foot, 
with  lance,  battle-axe  or  sword.  Now  if  there  be  any 
here  do  know  this  witch  Mellent  for  innocent,  if  there 
be  any  here  dare  adventure  his  body  for  her  innocence  and 
run  the  peril  of  mortal  combat  with  Sir  Gilles,  let  him 
now  stand  forth." 

And  immediately  the  trumpets  sounded  a  challenge. 
Thereafter  the  herald  paced  slowly  round  the  lists,  and 
behind  him  rode  Sir  Gilles,  his  blazon  of  the  three  stoop- 
ing falcons  plain  for  all  men  to  see,  on  gleaming  shield 
and  surcoat. 

North  and  south,  and  east  and  west  the  challenge  was 
repeated,  and  after  each  the  trumpet  sounded  a  warlike 
flourish,  yet  no  horseman  paced  forth  and  no  man  leapt 
the  barriers ;  and  the  witch  Mellent  drooped  pale  and 
trembling  betwixt  her  warders.  But,  of  a  sudden  she 
opened  swooning  eyes  and  lifted  her  heavy  head;  for, 
from  the  distant  woods,  faint  as  yet  and  far,  a  horn  brayed 
hoarsely  —  three  notes,  thrice  repeated,  defiant  and  war- 
like. And  now,  among  the  swaying  crowds  rose  a  hum 
that  grew  and  grew,  while  ever  and  anon  the  horn  rang 
out,  fiercely  winded  —  and  ever  it  sounded  nearer :  until, 
of  a  sudden,  out  from  the  trees  afar,  two  horsemen  gal- 
loped, their  harness  bright  in  the  sunshine,  helm  and  lance- 
point  twinkling,  who,  spurring  knee  and  knee,  thundered 
over  the  ling;  while  every  tongue  grew  hushed,  and  every 
eye  turned  to  mark  their  swift  career. 

Tall  were  these  men  and  lusty,  bedight  from  head  to 
foot  in  glistening  mail,  alike  at  all  points  save  that  one 
bare  neither  shield  nor  lance,  and  'neath  his  open  bascinet 
showed  a  face  brown  and  comely,  whereas  his  companion 
rode,  his  long  shield  flashing  in  the  sun,  his  head  and  fa"ce 
hid  by  reason  of  his  ponderous,  close-shut  casque.  Swift 
they  rode,  the  throng  parting  before  them ;  knee  and  knee 
together  they   leapt   the  palisade,   and  reining  in   their 


312  Beltane  the  Smith 

horses,  paced  down  the  lists  and  halted  before  the  pale 
and  trembling  captive.  Then  spake  the  knight,  harsh- 
voiced  behind  his  vizor: 

"  Sound,  Roger !  " 

Forthwith  the  black-haired,  ruddy  man  set  a  hunting 
horn  to  his  lips,  and  blew  thereon  a  flourish  so  loud  and 
shrill  as  made  the  very  welkin  ring. 

Now  came  pursuivants  and  the  chief  herald,  which  last 
made  inquisition  thus : 

"  Sir  Knight,  crest  hast  thou  none,  nor  on  thy  shield 
device,  so  do  I  demand  name  and  rank  of  thee,  who  thus 
in  knightly  guise  doth  give  this  bold  defiance,  and  where- 
fore ye  ride  armed  at  points.     Pronounce,  messire !  " 

Then  spake  the  tall  knight  loud  and  fierce,  his  voice 
deep-booming  within  the  hollow  of  his  closed  casque. 

"  Name  and  rank  have  I  laid  by  for  the  nonce,  until 
I  shall  have  achieved  a  certain  vow,  but  of  noble  blood  am 
I  and  kin  unto  the  greatest  —  this  do  I  swear  by  Holy 
Rood.  To-day  am  I  hither  come  in  arms  to  do  battle 
on  behalf  of  yon  innocent  maid,  and  to  maintain  her  in- 
nocence so  long  as  strength  abide.  And  furthermore, 
here  before  ye  all  and  every,  I  do  proclaim  Sir  Gilles  of 
Brandonmere  a  shame  and  reproach  unto  his  order.  To 
all  the  world  I  do  proclaim  him  rogue  and  thief  and  wilful 
liar,  the  which  (God  willing)  I  will  here  prove  upon  his 
vile  body.  So  now  let  there  be  an  end  of  words.  Sound, 
Roger !  " 

Hereupon  he  of  the  ruddy  cheek  clapped  horn  to  lip 
and  blew  amain  until  his  cheek  grew  redder  yet,  what  time 
the  heralds  and  pursuivants  and  marshals  of  the  field 
debated  together  if  it  were  lawful  for  a  nameless  knight 
to  couch  lance  'gainst  one  of  noble  blood.  But  now  came 
Sir  Gilles  himself,  choking  with  rage,  and  fuming  in  his 
harness. 

"  Ha,  thou  nameless  dog ! "  cried  he,  brandishing  his 
heavy  lance,  "  be  thou  serf  or  noble,  art  an  arrant  liar 
—  so  will  I  slay  thee  out  of  hand !  "  Thus  saying,  he 
reined  round  the  great  roan  stallion  he  bestrode,  and  gal- 


How  Beltane  Fought  for  a  Witch      313 

loped  to  one  end  of  the  lists.  Now  spake  Black  Roger 
low-voiced,  and  his  hand  shook  upon  his  bridle: 

"  Master,  now  do  I  fear  for  thee.  Sir  Gilles  is  a 
mighty  j  ouster  and  skilled  withal,  moreover  he  rideth  his 
famous  horse  Mars  —  a  noble  beast  and  fresh,  while  thine 
is  something  wearied.  And  then,  master,  direst  of  all, 
she  thou  would'st  champion  is  a  witch  — " 

"  That  worketh  no  evil  by  day,  Roger.  So  do  I  charge 
thee,  whatsoe'er  betide,  look  to  the  maid,  take  her  across 
thy  saddle  and  strive  to  bring  her  to  safety.  As  for  me, 
I  will  now  with  might  and  main  seek  to  make  an  end  of 
Sir  Gilles  of  Brandonmere." 

So  saying,  Beltane  rode  to  the  opposite  extremity  of 
the  lists. 

And  now,  while  the  trumpets  blared,  the  two  knights 
took  their  ground.  Sir  Gilles  resplendent  in  lofty  crest 
and  emblazoned  surcoat,  the  three  stooping  falcons  con- 
spicuous on  his  shield,  his  mighty  roan  charger  pawing 
the  ling  with  impatient  hoof;  his  opponent,  a  gleaming 
figure  astride  a  tall  black  horse,  his  round-topped  casque 
unadorned  by  plume  or  crest.  So  awhile  they  remained, 
very  still  and  silent,  what  time  a  single  trumpet  spake, 
whereat  —  behold !  the  two  long  lances  sank  feutred  to 
the  charge,  the  broad  shields  flashed,  glittered  and  were 
still  again ;  and  from  that  great  concourse  a  sound  went 
up  —  a  hum,  that  swelled,  and  so  was  gone. 

The  maid  Mellent  had  sunk  upon  her  knees  and  was 
praying  desperate  prayers  with  face  upturned  to  heaven; 
but  none  was  there  to  mark  her  now  amid  that  silent  gath- 
ering —  all  eyes  were  strained  to  watch  those  grim  and 
silent  horsemen  that  fronted  each  other,  the  length  of  the 
lists  between ;  even  Duke  Ivo,  leaning  on  lazy  elbow,  looked 
with  glowing  eye  and  slow-flushing  cheek,  ere  he  let  fall 
his   truncheon. 

And,  on  the  instant,  shrill  and  fierce  the  trumpets 
brayed,  and  on  the  instant  each  knight  struck  spurs,  the 
powerful  horses  reared,  plunged,  and  sprang  away  at 
speed.     Fast  and  faster  they  galloped,  their  riders  low- 


314  Beltane  the  Smith 

stooped  above  the  high-peaked  saddles,  shields  addressed 
and  lances  steady,  with  pounding  hooves  that  sent  the 
turves  a-flying,  with  gleaming  helms  and  deadly  lance- 
points  a-twinkle;  fast  and  ever  faster  they  thundered 
down  upon  each  other,  till,  with  a  sudden  direful  crash, 
they  met  in  full  career  with  a  splintering  of  well-aimed 
lances,  a  lashing  of  wild  hooves,  a  rearing  of  powerful 
horses,  staggering  and  reeling  beneath  the  shock.  And 
now  a  thunderous  cry  went  up,  for  the  tall  black  horse, 
plunging  and  snorting,  went  down  rolling  upon  the 
sward.  But  his  rider  had  leapt  clear  and,  stumbling  to 
his  feet,  stood  swaying  unsteadily,  faint  and  dazed  with 
the  blow  of  Sir  Gilles'  lance  that  had  borne  down  the 
great  black  horse  and  torn  the  heavy  casque  from  his 
head.  So  stood  Beltane,  unhelmed,  staring  dazedly  from 
heaving  earth  to  reeling  heaven ;  yet,  of  a  sudden,  shook 
aloft  the  fragment  of  his  splintered  lance  and  laughed 
fierce  and  loud,  to  behold,  'twixt  reeling  earth  and  sky, 
a  great  roan  stallion  that  foamed  upon  his  bit  'neath 
sharp-drawn  rein,  as,  swaying  sideways  from  the  lofty 
saddle.  Sir  Gilles  of  Brandonmere  crashed  to  earth,  trans- 
fixed through  shield  and  hauberk,  through  breast  and  back, 
upon  the  shaft  of  a  broken  lance.  High  over  him  leapt 
Beltane,  to  catch  the  roan's  loose  bridle,  to  swing  himself 
up,  and  so,  with  stirrups  flying  and  amid  a  sudden 
clamour  of  roaring  voices,  to  thunder  down  the  lists  where 
Roger's  heavy  sword  flashed,  as  smiting  right  and  left, 
he  stooped  and  swung  the  maid  Mellent  before  him. 

"  Ride,  Roger  —  ride !  Spur  —  spur !  "  shouted  Bel- 
tane above  the  gathering  din,  and  shouting,  drew  his 
sword,  for  now  before  them,  steel  glittered  and  cries  rang 
upon  the  air: 

**  'Tis  Beltane  the  outlaw !  Seize  him  —  slay  him ! 
»Tis  the  outlaw !  " 

But  knee  and  knee,  with  loose  rein  and  goading  spur 
rode  they,  and  nought  could  avail  and  none  were  quick 
enough  to  stay  that  headlong  gallop ;  side  by  side  they 
thundered  over  the  ling,  and  knee  and  knee  they  leapt 


How  Beltane  Fought  for  a  Witch      315 

the  barrier,  bursting  through  bewildered  soldiery,  scat- 
tering frighted  country-folk,  and  so  away,  over  gorse 
and  heather  and  with  arrows,  drawn  at  a  venture,  whis- 
tling by  them.  Betimes  they  reached  the  shelter  of  the 
woods,  and  turning,  Beltane  beheld  a  confusion  of  armed 
men,  a-horse  and  a-foot,  what  time  borne  upon  the  air 
came  a  sound  hoarse  and  menacing,  a  sound  dreadful  to 
hear  —  the  sound  of  the  hue  and  cry. 


CHAPTER  XL 

FURTHER  CONCERNING  THE  MAID  MELLENT ;  AND  OF 
THE  HUE  AND  CRY 

Fast  they  galloped  'neath  the  trees,  stooping  ever  and 
anon  to  avoid  some  low-swung  branch ;  through  grassy 
rides  and  sunny  glades,  until  all  sound  of  pursuit  was 
died  away.  So,  turning  aside  into  the  denser  green,  Bel- 
tane stayed,  and  sprang  down  to  tighten  the  great  roan's 
saddle-girths,  strained  in  the  encounter.  Now  as  he  was 
busied  thus,  came  the  maid  Mellent,  very  pale  'neath  her 
long  black  hair,  and  spake  him  low-voiced  and  humble: 

"  My  lord  Beltane,  thou,  at  peril  of  thy  body,  hath 
saved  to-day  a  sorrowful  maid  from  the  fiery  torment. 
So  to  prove  my  gratitude  and  sorrow  for  past  ill  — 
now  will  I  tell  thee  that  in  saving  me,  thou  hast  saved 
one  that  for  ambition's  sake,  once  did  thee  grievous 
wrong." 

"  Thou !  "  saith  Beltane,  staring  in  amaze,  "  ne'er  hast 
thou  seen  me  until  this  day  !  " 

"  Verily,  messire  —  O  messire,  thou  hast  indeed  seen  me 
ere  this  and  —  to  my  bitter  sorrow  —  for  I  who  speak  am 
the  lady  Winfrida  — " 

"  Nay  —  nay  — "  stammered  Beltane,  "  here  is  thing 
impossible  —  thy  night-black  hair  — " 

"  'Tis  but  a  wile  that  many  women  do  know,  messire,  a 
device  of  the  witch  Jolette  (that  is  no  witch,  but  a  noble 
woman)  a  device  whereby  I  might  lie  hid  awhile.  O  in- 
deed, indeed  I  who  speak  to  thee  am  the  wicked  Winfrida  — 
Winfrida  the  Sorrowful !  "  Now  herewith  she  sank  before 
him  on  her  knees  and  bowed  her  face  within  her  hands,  and 
Beltane  saw  that  she  trembled  greatly.  "  My  lord,"  she 
whispered,  "  now  must  I  confess  a  thing  beyond  all  words 
shameful,  and  though  I  fear  death,  I  fear  thy  anger  more. 


Concerning  the  Maid  Mellent      317 

If,  therefore,  when  I  have  spoke  thee  all,  thou  wilt  slay 
me,  then  —  O  my  lord  —  I  pray  thee  —  let  death  come 
swift  — " 

"  Master !  "  cried  Roger  of  a  sudden,  "  I  hear  horses  — 
they  be  after  us  already !  Mount  —  mount  and  let  us 
ride  —     Hark !  they  come  this  way !  " 

"  Aye !  "  nodded  Beltane,  drawing  his  sword,  "  yet  here 
is  but  one  methinks  —  list,  Roger  —  leave  him  to  me !  " 
So  waited  they  all  three,  what  time  the  slow-pacing  hoofs 
drew  near  and  nearer,  until,  peering  through  the  leaves, 
they  beheld  a  knight,  who  rode  low-stooping  in  his  saddle, 
to  mark  their  tracks  plain  upon  the  tender  grass.  Forth 
stepped  Beltane,  fierce  and  threatening,  his  long  sword 
agleam,  and  so  paused  to  scowl,  for  the  knight  raised  his 
head  of  a  sudden  and  lo !  'twas  Sir  Fidelis. 

"Now  what  seek  ye  here,  sir  knight?"  saith  Beltane, 
nothing  gentle. 

"  Thee,  my  lord,"  quoth  Fidelis,  meek  of  aspect,  "  to 
share  thy  perils  according  to  thy  word.  Put  up  thy 
sword,  messire,  thou  wilt  not  harm  thy  companion  in 
arms  ?  " 

Now  Beltane,  finding  nought  to  say,  scowled  sulkily  to 
earth,  and  thus  saw  nothing  of  the  eyes  so  deep  and  tender 
that  watched  him  'neath  the  shadow  of  the  young  knight's 
bascinet,  nor  the  smile  so  sad  and  wistful  that  curled  his 
ruddy  lips,  nor  all  the  lithe  and  slender  grace  of  him  as  he 
swayed  to  the  impatient  movements  of  the  powerful  animal 
he  bestrode;  but  it  chanced  that  Winfrida's  eyes  saw  all 
this,  and  being  a  woman's  eyes,  beheld  that  which  gave  her 
breathing  sudden  pause  —  turned  her  red  —  turned  her 
pale,  until,  with  a  gasp  of  fear  she  started,  and  uttering  a 
cry,  low  and  inarticulate,  sped  fleet-footed  across  the  glade 
and  was  gone. 

Quoth  Beltane,  staring: 

"  Now  what  aileth  the  maid,  think  ye .?  But 'tis  no  mat- 
ter—  we  are  well  quit  of  her,  meseemeth."  So  saying,  he 
turned  to  behold  Roger  flat  upon  his  belly  and  with  his  ear 
to  the  ground. 


3i8 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Master,"  cried  he,  "  master,  there  be  horsemen  i'  the 
forest  hereabouts  —  a  great  company !  " 

"  Why  then,  do  you  mount,  Roger,  and  hie  thee  with 
Sir  Fidelis  hot-foot  to  Walkyn  at  Hundleby  Fen.  Bid 
him  set  our  bowmen  in  every  place  of  vantage,  and  let 
every  man  stand  to  arms.  So  mayhap,  Roger,  will  we 
this  day  make  hunted  men  of  them  that  hunt !  "  So  say- 
ing, Beltane  swung  to  saddle. 

"  Aye  —  aye  —  but  what  o'  thee,  master?  " 

"  Mark  ye  this  horse,  Roger.  Thou  hast  said  'twas  of 
good  speed  and  endurance,  and  methinks  'tis  sooth.  How- 
beit,  now  shall  he  prove  thy  word,  for  here  I  wait  the 
hunters,  and  to-day  will  I,  keeping  ever  out  of  bow-shot, 
lead  them  through  every  quag,  every  bog  and  marsh  'twixt 
here  and  Hundleby  Fen,  and  of  those  that  follow  still, 
thou  and  Walkyn  and  our  merry  men  shall  make  an  end, 
I  pray  God.  So  let  all  lie  well  hid,  and  watch  for  my 
coming.     And  now  —  farewell  to  thee,  Roger." 

"  But,  master,"  quoth  Roger,  waxing  rueful,  "  in  this 
thou  must  run  dire  perils  and  dangers,  and  I  not  with  thee. 
So  pray  thee  let  Sir  Fidelis  —  hard !  —  Ha !  —  now  God 
aid  us  —  hark  to  that !  Master,  they've  loosed  the  dogs 
on  us ! " 

Even  as  he  spake,  very  faint  and  far  as  yet  but  plain  to 
hear  above  the  leafy  stirring,  the  deep  baying  of  a  hound 
came  down  the  wind. 

"  Hunting-dogs,  master !  Ride  —  ride !  "  quoth  Roger, 
wiping  sweat  from  him,  "  O  sweet  Christ  forgive  me,  for  I 
have  hunted  down  poor  rogues  with  such  ere  now  — " 

"  Forsooth,  Roger,  and  now  is  their  turn  to  hunt  thee, 
mayhap.  Howbeit,  ride  you  at  speed,  and  you,  sir  knight 
also,  get  you  gone,  and  whatsoever  betide,  Roger,  wait  you 
at  Hundleby  Fen  for  me.  Go  —  obey  me !  "  So,  looking 
upon  Beltane  with  eyes  of  yearning.  Black  Roger  perforce 
wheeled  and  rode  out  into  the  glade,  and  striking  spurs 
to  his  eager  steed,  galloped  swiftly  away.  Now  turned 
Beltane  upon  Sir  Fidelis : 

"  How,  messire  —  are  ye  not  gone?  " 


Concerning  the  Maid  Mellent      319 

Then  answered  Sir  Fidelis,  his  drooping  head  averted: 

"  Thou  seest,  my  lord  —  I  go  beside  thee  according  to 
thy  word  — " 

"  Presumptuous  youth,  I  want  thee  not ! " 

*'  The  day  will  yet  come,  perchance,  my  lord  —  and  I 
can  be  patient  — " 

"Ha  — dost  defy  me?" 

"  Not  so,  my  lord  —  nor  do  I  fear  thee.  For  I  do 
know  thee  better  than  thyself,  so  do  I  pity  thee  —  pity 
thee  —  thou  that  art  so  mighty  and  yet  so  weak.  Thou 
art  a  babe  weeping  in  a  place  of  shadows,  so  will  I  go  be- 
side thee  in  the  dark  to  soothe  and  comfort  thee.  Thou 
art  a  noble  man,  thy  better  self  lost  awhile  'neath  sickly 
fancies  —  God  send  they  soon  may  pass.  Till  then  I  can 
be  very  patient,  my  lord  Beltane." 

Now  did  Beltane  stare  with  eyes  of  wonder  upon  Sir 
Fidelis  who  managed  his  fretting  charger  with  a  gracious 
ease,  yet  held  his  face  ever  averted.  While,  upon  the 
stilly  air,  loud  and  more  loud  rose  the  fierce  baying  of  the 
hounds. 

Said  Beltane  at  last : 

"  Messire,  thou  dost  hear  the  hounds  ?  " 

"  In  faith,  my  lord,  I  tremble  to  be  gone,  but  an  thou 
dost  tarry,  so  must  I." 

"  Death  shall  follow  hard  after  us  this  day,  Sir  Fidelis." 

"  Why  then,  an  death  o'ertake  us  —  I  must  die,  mes- 
sire." 

"  Ha, —  the  hounds  have  winded  us  already,  methinks  I 
Hark !  —  Hark  to  them !  "  And  in  truth  the  air  was 
full  of  their  raving  clamour,  with,  ever  and  anon,  the 
shouts  and  cries  of  those  that  urged  them  on. 

"  Hast  a  noble  horse.  Sir  Fidelis.  Now  God  send  he 
bear  thee  well  this  day,  for  'twill  be  hard  and  cruel  going. 
Come  — 'tis  time,  methinks  !  " 

Thus  speaking,  Beltane  gave  his  horse  the  rein  and 
forth  they  rode  together  out  into  the  broad  and  open 
glade,  their  armour  glinting  in  the  sun;  and  immediately 
the  dogs  gave  tongue,  louder,  fiercer  than  before.     Now 


320  Beltane  the  Smith 

looking  back,  Beltane  beheld  afar  many  mounted  men  who 
shouted  amain,  flourishing  lance  and  sword,  while  divers 
others  let  slip  the  great  dogs  they  held  in  leash ;  then, 
looking  up  the  glade  ahead,  and  noting  its  smooth  level 
and  goodly  length,  Beltane  smiled  grimly  and  drew  sword. 

"  Sir  Fidelis,"  said  he,  "  hast  a  mace  at  thy  saddle- 
bow :  betake  thee  to  it,  'tis  a  goodly  weapon,  and  —  smite 
hard.     'Twill  be  the  dogs  first.     Now  —  spur !  " 

Forward  bounded  the  two  high-mettled  steeds,  gather- 
ing pace  with  every  stride,  but  the  great  hounds  came  on 
amain,  while  beyond,  distant  as  yet,  the  hunters  rode  — 
knight  and  squire,  mounted  bowman  and  man-at-arms 
they  spurred  and  shouted,  filling  the  air  with  fierce  hal- 
loo. Slowly  the  hounds  drew  nearer  —  ten  great  beasts 
Beltane  counted  —  that  galloped  two  and  two,  whining 
and  whimpering  as  they  came. 

Now  of  a  sudden  Beltane  checked  in  his  career,  swerved, 
swung  the  plunging  roan,  and  with  long  blade  agleam,  rode 
in  upon  the  racing  pack  to  meet  their  rush  with  deadly 
point  and  deep-biting  edge ;  a  slavering  hound  launched  it- 
self at  his  throat,  its  fangs  clashing  on  the  stout  links  of 
his  camail,  but  as  the  great  beast  hung  thus,  striving  to 
drag  him  from  the  saddle,  down  came  the  mace  of  Sir 
Fidelis  and  the  snarling  beast  fell  to  be  crushed  'neath  the 
trampling  hoofs  of  the  war-horse  Mars.  And  now  did 
the  mighty  roan  prove  himself  a  very  Mars  indeed,  for, 
beset  round  about  by  fierce,  lean  shapes  that  crouched  and 
leapt  with  cruel,  gleaming  fangs,  he  stamped  and  reared 
and  fought  them  off,  neighing  loud  defiance.  Thus,  with 
lashing  hoof,  with  whirling  mace  and  darting  sword  fought 
they,  until  of  the  hounds  there  none  remained  save  three 
that  limped  painfully  to  cover,  licking  their  hurts  as  they 
went. 

But  other  foes  were  near,  for  as  Beltane  reined  his 
snorting  steed  about,  he  swayed  in  his  stirrups  'neath  the 
shock  of  a  cross-bow  bolt  that  glanced,  whirring,  from  his 
bascinet,  and  in  that  moment  Sir  Fidelis  cried  aloud: 

"  My  lord,  my  lord !  alas,  my  poor  horse  is  death-smit- 


Concerning  the  Maid  Mellent      321 

ten !  "  Glancing  round,  Beltane  beheld  Sir  Fidelis  slip  to 
earth  as  his  charger,  rearing  high,  crashed  over,  his  throat 
transfixed  by  a  cloth-yard  shaft.  Now  did  their  many 
pursuers  shout  amain,  fierce  and  joyful,  goading  their 
horses  to  swifter  pace  what  time  Beltane  frowned  from 
them  to  Sir  Fidelis,  who  stood,  mailed  hands  tight-clasped, 
watching  Beltane  eager  and  great-eyed. 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Beltane,  smiting  hand  to  thigh  in  bitter 
anger,  "  now  is  my  hope  of  ambush  and  surprise  like  to 
be  marred  by  reason  of  thee,  sir  knight,  for  one  horse  may 
never  carry  us  twain !  " 

"  Why  then,  I  can  die  here,  my  lord,  an  it  be  so  thy 
will !  "  spake  Sir  Fidelis,  his  pale  lips  a-tremble,  "  yet  is 
thy  horse  strong  and  —  O  in  sooth  I  did  yearn  —  for  life. 
But,  an  thou  wilt  give  me  death  — " 

"  Come !  "  cried  Beltane  hoarsely.  "  Come,  wherefore 
tarry  ye  ?  " 

Now  leapt  Sir  Fidelis  to  the  saddle  of  his  fallen  steed 
and  snatched  thence  a  wallet,  whereat  Beltane  fell  a-fu- 
ming,  for  bolts  and  arrows  began  to  whirr  and  hum  thick 
and  fast.  "  Come  —  mount,  sir  knight  —  mount  ye  up 
behind  me.  Thy  hand  —  quick  !  thy  foot  on  my  foot  — 
so!  Now  set  thy  two  arms  fast  about  me  and  see  thou 
loose  me  not,  for  now  must  we  ride  for  the  wild  —  brush 
and  thicket,  stock  and  stone,  nought  must  let  or  stay 
us  —  so  loose  me  not,  sir  knight !  " 

"  Ah  —  not  while  life  remain,  messire  Beltane !  "  said 
the  young  knight  quick-breathing,  and  speaking,  took 
Beltane  within  two  mailed  arms  that  clasped  and  clung 
full  close.  Then,  wheeling  sharp  about,  Beltane  stooping 
low,  struck  sudden  spurs  and  they  plunged,  crashing,  into 
the  denser  green. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

HOW   THEY  BODE  INTO   THE  WILDERNESS 

Fast  galloped  the  good  horse,  bursting  through  under- 
brush and  thicket  with  the  roar  of  the  pursuit  following 
ever  distant  and  more  distant ;  and  ever  Beltane  spurred 
deeper  into  those  trackless  wilds  where  few  dare  adventure 
them  by  reason  of  evil  spirits  that  do  haunt  these  solitudes 
(as  they  do  say)  and,  moreover,  of  ravening  beasts. 

Strongly  and  well  the  good  horse  bore  them,  what  time 
the  sun  waxed  fierce  and  hot,  filling  the  woods  with  a 
stifling  heat,  a  close,  windless  air  dank  and  heavy  with 
the  scent  of  leaves  and  bracken.  The  hue  and  cry  had 
sunk  long  since,  lost  in  distance,  and  nought  broke  the 
brooding  silence  but  the  stir  of  their  going,  as,  checking 
their  headlong  pace.  Beltane  brought  the  powerful  animal 
to  slow  and  leisured  gait.  And  presently,  a  gentle  wind 
arose,  that  came  and  went,  to  fan  brow  and  cheek  and 
temper  the  sun's  heat. 

And  now,  as  they  rode  through  sunlight  and  shadow, 
Beltane  felt  his  black  mood  slowly  lifted  from  him  and 
knew  a  sense  of  rest,  a  content  unfelt  this  many  a  day ;  he 
looked,  glad-eyed,  upon  the  beauty  of  the  world  about  him, 
from  green  earth  to  an  azure  heaven  peeping  through  a 
fretted  screen  of  branches ;  he  marked  the  graceful,  slender 
bracken  stirring  to  the  soft-breathing  air,  the  mighty  boles 
of  stately  trees  that  reached  out  sinuous  boughs  one  to 
another,  to  touch  and  twine  together  amid  a  mystery  of 
murmuring  leaves.  All  this  he  saw,  yet  heeded  not  at  all 
the  round  mailed  arms  that  clasped  him  In  their  soft  em- 
brace, nor  the  slender  hands  that  held  upon  his  girdle. 

So  rode  they  through  bosky  dell  and  dingle,  until  the 
sun,  having  climbed  the  meridian,  sank  slowly  westwards; 
and  Sir  Fidelis  spake  soft-voiced : 


Into  the  Wilderness  323 

"  Think  you  we  are  safe  at  last,  my  lord?  " 

"  Fidelis,"  saith  Beltane,  "  Yest're'en  did'st  thou  name 
me  selfish,  to-day,  a  babe,  and,  moreover,  by  thy  disobedi- 
ence hast  made  my  schemes  of  no  avail  —  thus  am  I  wroth 
with  thee." 

"  Yet  doth  the  sun  shine,  my  lord,"  said  Sir  Fidelis, 
small  of  voice. 

"  Ha  —  think  you  my  anger  so  light  a  thing,  for- 
sooth? " 

"  Messire,  I  think  of  it  not  at  all." 

"  By  thy  evil  conduct  are  we  fugitives  in  the  wilder- 


ness 


t »» 


"  Yet  is  it  a  wondrous  fair  place,  messire,  and  we  un- 
harmed —  which  is  well,  and  we  are  —  together,  which 
is  —  also  well." 

"  And  with  but  one  beast  to  bear  us  twain !  " 

"  Yet  he  beareth  us  strong  and  nobly,  messire ! " 

"  Fidelis,  I  would  I  ne'er  had  seen  thee." 

"  Thou  dost  not  see  me  —  now,  lord  —  content  you, 
therefore,"  saith  Fidelis  softly,  whereat  Beltane  must  needs 
twist  in  the  saddle,  yet  saw  no  more  than  a  mailed  arm 
and  shoulder. 

"  Howbeit,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  I  would  these  arms  o' 
thine  clasped  the  middle  of  any  other  man  than  I." 

"  Forsooth,  my  lord?  And  do  they  crush  thee  so?  Or 
is  it  thou  dost  pine  for  solitude  ?  " 

"  Neither,  youth :  'tis  for  thy  youth's  sake,  for,  though 
thou  hast  angered  me  full  oft,  art  but  a  very  youth — " 

"  Gramercy  for  my  so  much  youthfulness,  my  lord. 
Methinks  I  shall  be  full  long  a-growing  old  — " 

"  Heed  me,  sir  knight,  'tis  a  fell  place  this,  where  dire- 
ful beasts  do  raven  — " 

"  Nathless,  messire,  my  youthfulness  is  but  where  it 
would  be  — " 

"  Aye,  forsooth,  and  there  it  is !  Where  thou  would'st 
be  — '  thou,  forsooth !  Art  indeed  a  wilful  youth  and  very 
headstrong.     And  wherefore  here?  " 

"  To  cheer  thee  in  thy  loneliness,  my  lord." 


324  Beltane  the  Smith 

"How  so?" 

"  Thou  shalt  reproach  me  for  my  youth  and  quarrel 
i^ith  me  when  thou  wilt !  " 

"  Am  I  of  so  ill  humour,  indeed?  " 

*'  Look  within  thyself,  my  lord." 

Now  here  they  rode  a  while  in  silence;  but  presently 
Beltane  turned  him  again  in  the  saddle  and  saw  again 
only  arm  and  shoulder.     Quoth  he: 

"  Fidelis,  art  a  strange  youth  and  a  valiant  —  and  yet, 
thy  voice  —  thy  voice  hath  betimes  a  —  a  something  I 
love  not  —  a  note  of  softness  that  mindeth  me  of  bitter 
days."  • 

"  Then  heed  it  not,  my  lord ;  'tis  but  that  I  grow 
a-weary,  belike." 

Here  silence  again,  what  time  Beltane  fell  to  frowning 
and  Sir  Fidelis,  head  a-slant,  to  watching  him  furtive-eyed, 
yet  with  lips  that  curved  to  wistful  smile. 

"  Came  you  in  sooth  from  —  the  Duchess  Helen,  Fi- 
delis?" 

"  In  truth,  my  lord." 

"  Dost  love  her  —  also?  " 

*'  Aye,  my  lord  —  also !  " 

"  Then  alas  for  thee,  poor  youthful  fool,  'twere  better 
I  had  left  thee  to  thy  death,  methinks,  for  she  —  this 
wilful  Helen—" 

"  My  lord,"  cried  Sir  Fidelis,  "  nought  will  I  hear  to 
her  defame !  " 

"  Fidelis,  art  a  gentle  knight  —  but  very  young,  art 
fond  and  foolish,  so,  loving  this  light  lady,  art  doubly 
fool ! " 

"  Wherein,"  saith  Fidelis,  "  wherein,  my  lord,  thou  art 
likewise  fool,  meseemeth." 

"  Verily,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  O  verily  fool  am  I,  yet 
wise  in  this  —  that  I  do  know  my  folly.  So  I,  a  fool, 
would  counsel  thee  in  thy  folly  thus  —  give  not  thy  heart 
to  Helen's  faithless  keeping  —  stoop  not  to  her  wanton 
lure  —  ha!  what  now?"  For,  lithe  and  swift.  Sir  Fidelis 
had  sprung  to  earth  and  had  seized  the  great  roan's  bridle, 


Into  the  Wilderness  325 

and  checking  him  in  his  stride,  faced  Beltane  with  cheeks 
suffused  and  flaming  eyes. 

"  Shame,  messire  —  O  shame !  "  he  cried.  "  How  vile 
is  he  that  would,  with  lying  tongue,  smirch  the  spotless 
honour  of  any  maid.  And,  as  to  Helen,  I  do  name  thee 
liar!  — liar!" 

"  Would'st  quarrel  with  me  in  matter  so  unworthy  ?  " 

"  Enough  !  "  quoth  Fidelis,  "  unworthy  art  thou  to  take 
her  name  within  thy  lips  —  enough ! "  So  saying  Sir 
Fidelis  stepped  back  a  pace  and  drew  his  sword. 

Now  Beltane,  yet  astride  the  mighty  roan  that  snuffed 
the  fragrant  air  and  stooped  to  crop  the  tender  herbage, 
looked  upon  the  youthful  paladin  'neath  wrinkled  brow, 
and  pulled  his  lip  as  one  in  doubt.  Anon  he  sighed  and 
therewith  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

Quoth  he: 

"  O  Fidelis,  now  do  I  see  that  I  must  needs  love  thee 
some  day.  Fidelis,  art  a  fool,  but  a  right  sweet  fool,  so 
do  I  humbly  sue  thy  foolish  pardon,  and,  as  to  Helen, 
may  she  prove  worthy  thy  sweet  faith  and  I  thy  love  and 
friendship.  So,  fair  knight,  put  up  thy  sword  —  come, 
mount  and  let  us  on.  Sir  Mars,  methinks,  doth  snuff 
water  afar,  and  I  do  yearn  me  for  the  cool  of  it." 

So  in  a  while  they  rode  on  again,  yet  presently  Sir 
Fidelis,  meek-voiced,  preferred  a  sudden  question,  thus : 

"  Lord,  fain  would  I  know  why  thou  dost  contemn  her 
so—" 

"  Nay,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  here  is  a  tale  un-meet  thy 
tender  years.  Speak  we  of  other  things  —  as  thus, 
wherefore  didst  keep  our  lives  in  jeopardy  to  bring  away 
the  wallet  that  cumbereth  thy  hip.?  " 

*'  For  that  within  doth  lie,  first  —  our  supper  — " 

"  O  foolish  youth,  these  woods  do  teem  with  food !  " 

"  A  neat's  tongue,  delicately  seasoned  — " 

"  O !  "  said  Beltane. 

*'  'Twixt  manchets  of  fair  white  bread  — " 

"  Ah !  "  said  Beltane. 

"  With  a  small  skin  of  rare  wine  — " 


326 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Enough ! "  quoth  Beltane.  "  These  be  things  for- 
sooth worth  a  little  risk.  Now  do  I  thirst  and  famish,  yet 
knew  it  not." 

"  An  thou  wilt  eat,  my  lord?  " 

"  Nay,  first  will  we  find  some  freshet  where  we  may  bathe 
awhile.  Ha,  to  plunge  naked  within  some  sweet  pool  — 
'tis  a  sweet  thought,  Fidelis  ?  " 

But  hereupon  the  young  knight  made  answer  none  and 
fell  into  a  reverie  and  Beltane  also,  what  time  they  rode 
by  muraiuring  rills,  through  swampy  hollows,  past  brake 
and  briar,  until,  as  evening  began  to  fall,  they  came  unto  a 
broad,  slow-moving  stream  whose  waters,  aglow  with  sun- 
set glory,  split  asunder  the  greeny  gloom  of  trees,  most 
pleasant  to  behold.  Then,  sighing  for  very  gladness, 
Beltane  checked  his  horse  and  spake  right  gleefully: 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  good  Fidelis ;  ne'er  saw  I 
fairer  haven  for  wearied  travellers !  We  have  ridden  hard 
and  far,  so  here  will  we  tarry  the  night !  "  and  down  to 
earth  he  sprang,  to  stride  up  and  down  and  stretch  his 
cramped  limbs,  the  while  Sir  Fidelis,  loosing  off  the  great, 
high-peaked  saddle,  led  the  foam-flecked  war-horse  down 
to  the  water. 

Now  because  of  the  heat.  Beltane  laid  by  his  bascinet, 
and,  hearkening  to  the  soft,  cool  ripple  of  the  water,  he 
straightway  unbuckled  his  sword-belt  and  began  to  doff 
his  heavy  hauberk;  perceiving  the  which,  cometh  Sir 
Fidelis  to  him  something  hastily. 

"  What  do  you,  messire?  "  he  questioned. 

"Do,  Fidelis?  Forsooth,  I  would  bathe  me  in  yon 
cool,  sweet  water  —  list  how  it  murmureth  'neath  the  bank 
yonder.  Come  then,  strip  as  I  do,  youth,  strip  and  let 
us  swim  together  —  pray  you  aid  me  with  this  lacing." 

"  My  lord,  I  —  indeed,  I  do  think  it  unsafe  — " 

"Unsafe,  boy?" 

"  An  our  foes  should  come  upon  us  — " 

"  O  content  you,"  quoth  Beltane,  stooping  to  loose  off 
his  spurs,  "  our  foes  were  lost  hours  since,  nor  shall  any 
find  us  here  in  the  wild,  methinks  —  pray  you,  loose  me 


Into  the  Wilderness  327 

this  buckle.  Come,  list  how  the  waters  do  woo  us  with 
their  pretty  babble." 

"  But,  messire,"  quoth  Fidelis,  faint-voiced,  and  fum- 
bling awkwardly  with  the  buckle,  "  indeed  I  —  I  have  no 
art  in  swimming." 

"  Then  will  I  teach  thee." 

"  Nay,"  spake  the  young  knight  hastily,  his  trouble 
growing,  "  I  do  dread  the  water !  " 

"  Well,  there  be  shallows  'neath  the  alders  yonder." 

"  Aye,  but  the  shallows  will  be  muddy,  and  I  — " 

"Muddy.''"  cried  Beltane,  pausing  with  his  hauberk 
half  on,  half  off,  to  stare  at  Sir  Fidelis  in  amaze,  "  muddy, 
forsooth!  Art  a  dainty  youth  in  faith,  and  over-nice, 
methinks.  What  matter  for  a  little  honest  mud, 
prithee?  " 

"  Why  'tis  mud !  And  slimy  under  foot !  And  I  love 
not  mud !     So  will  I  none  of  the  shallows !  " 

"  Then  verily  must  I  chide  thee,  Fidelis,  for  — ^" 

"  Then  verily  will  I  unto  yon  boskage,  messire,  to  pre- 
pare us  a  fire  'gainst  the  '  beasts  that  raven,'  and  our 
bracken  beds.  Howbeit,  bathe  me  I  —  will  —  not,  mes- 
sire ! " 

"  O  luxurious  youth,  then  will  I,  and  shame  thy  nice 
luxuriousness !  "  quoth  Beltane ;  and  off  came  hauberk  and 
quilted  gambeson  and  away  skipped  Sir  Fidelis  into  the 
green. 

So,  presently.  Beltane  plunged  him  into  the  stream,  and 
swimming  with  powerful  strokes,  felt  his  youth  and 
strength  redoubled  thereby,  and  rejoiced  to  be  alive. 
Thereafter  he  leapt  ashore,  his  blood  aglow  with  ardent 
life,  and,  as  he  clothed  him,  felt  a  great  and  mighty 
hunger. 

But  scarce  had  he  donned  chausses  and  gambeson  than 
he  heard  an  outcry  and  sudden  clamour  within  the  green; 
whereupon,  staying  not  for  his  armour,  he  caught  up  his 
sword  and,  unsheathing  it  as  he  ran,  plunged  in  among 
the  trees  and  there  espied  Sir  Fidelis  stoutly  withstanding 
three  foul  knaves  unwashed  and  ragged.     Then  shouted 


328 


Beltane  the  Smith 


Beltane,  and  fell  upon  them  right  joyously  and  smote 
them  gleefully  and  laughed  to  see  them  reel  and  scatter 
before  his  sudden  onset;  whereon,  beholding  Sir  Fidelis 
pale  and  scant  of  breath,  he  stayed  to  clap  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  Blithely  done,  good  Fidelis !  "  quoth  he.  "  Rest  thee 
awhile  and  catch  thy  wind,  for  fain  am  I  to  try  a  bout  with 
yon  tall  rogues  I "  So  saying,  he  advanced  upon  the 
scowling  three,  his  eyes  a-dance,  his  nimble  feet  light- 
poised  for  swift  action  —  for  lusty  rogues  were  these, 
who,  seeing  him  alone,  forthwith  met  him  point  and  edge, 
besetting  him  with  many  swashing  blows,  that,  whistling, 
did  but  cleave  the  empty  air  or  rang  loud  upon  his  swift- 
opposing  blade.  So  hewed  they,  and  smote  amain  until 
their  brows  shone  moist  and  their  breaths  waxed  short; 
whereat  Beltane  mocked  them,  saying: 

"Ha  —  sweat  ye,  forsooth?  Do  ye  pufF  so  soon? 
This  cometh  of  foul  eating  and  fouler  life.  Off  —  off ! 
ye  beefy  do-nothings !  An  ye  would  be  worthy  fighters, 
eat  less  and  bathe  ye  more !  "  Then  Beltane  laid  on  with 
the  flat  of  his  heavy  sword  and  soundly  belaboured  these 
hard-breathing  knaves,  insomuch  that  one,  hard-smitten 
on  the  crown,  stumbled  and  fell,  whereupon  his  comrades, 
to  save  their  bones,  leapt  forthwith  a-down  the  steepy  bank 
and,  plunging  into  the  stream,  made  across  to  the  farther 
side,  splashing  prodigiously,  and  cursing  consumedly,  for 
the  water  they  liked  not  at  all. 

Now  as  Beltane  leaned  him  on  his  sword,  watching  their 
flounderings  joyful-eyed,  the  weapon  was  dashed  from  his 
loosened  hold,  he  staggered  'neath  the  bite  of  vicious  steel, 
and,  starting  round,  beheld  the  third  rogue,  his  deadly 
sword  swung  high;  but  even  as  the  blow  fell.  Sir  Fidelis 
sprang  between  and  took  it  upon  his  own  slender  body, 
and,  staggering  aside,  fell,  and  lay  with  arms  wide-tossed. 
Then,  whiles  the  robber  yet  stared  upon  his  sword,  shivered 
by  the  blow.  Beltane  leapt,  and  ere  he  could  flee,  caught 
him  about  the  loins,  and  whirling  him  aloft,  dashed  him 
out  into  the  stream.     Then,  kneeling  by  Sir  Fidelis,  he 


Into  the  Wilderness  329 

took  his  heavy  head  upon  his  arm  and  beheld  his  cheeks 
pale  and  wan,  his  eyes  fast  shut,  and  saw  his  shining 
bascinet  scored  and  deep-dinted  by  the  blow. 

"  Fidelis !  "  he  groaned,  "  O  my  brave  Fidelis,  and  art 
thou  slain  —  for  my  sake?"  But  in  a  while,  what  time 
Beltane  kneeled  and  mourned  over  him  full  sore,  the  young 
knight  stirred  feebly,  sighed,  and  spake. 

"  Beltane !  "  he  whispered ;  and  again,  "  Beltane  !  " 
Anon  his  white  lids  quivered,  and,  opening  swooning  eyes 
he  spake  again  with  voice  grown  stronger: 

"My  lord  —  my  lord  —  what  of  thy  wound?" 

And  lo !  the  voice  was  sweet  to  hear  as  note  of  merle  or 
mavis;  these  eyes  were  long  and  deeply  blue  beneath 
their  heavy  lashes ;  eyes  that  looked  up,  brimful  of  tender- 
ness, ere  they  closed  slow  and  wearily;  eyes  so  much  at 
odds  with  grim  bascinet  and  close-laced  camail  that  Bel- 
tane must  needs  start  and  hold  his  breath  and  fall  to 
sudden  trembling  what  time  Sir  Fidelis  lay  there,  pale  and 
motionless,  as  one  that  is  dead.  Now  great  fear  came 
upon  Beltane,  and  he  would  have  uttered  desperate 
prayers,  but  could  not ;  trembling  yet,  full  gently  he  drew 
his  arm  from  under  that  drooping  head,  and,  stealing  soft- 
footed  to  the  river's  marge,  stood  there  staring  down  at 
the  rippling  waters,  and  his  heart  was  rent  with  conflict- 
ing passions  —  amazement,  fear,  anger,  joy,  and  a  black 
despair.  And  of  a  sudden  Beltane  fell  Upon  his  knees  and 
bowed  him  low  and  lower  until  his  burning  brow  was  hid 
in  the  cool,  sweet  grass  —  for  of  these  passions,  fiercest, 
strongest,  wildest,  was  —  despair. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

HOW    BELTANE    DREAMED    IN    THE    WILD-WOOD 

Now  in  a  while,  he  started  to  feel  a  hand  among  his  hair, 
and  the  hand  was  wondrous  light  and  very  gentle;  where- 
fore, wondering,  he  raised  his  head,  but  behold,  the  suiu 
was  gone  and  the  shadows  deepening  to  night.  Yet  even 
so,  he  stared  and  thrilled  'twixt  wonder  and  fear  to  see 
Sir  Fidelis  bending  over  him. 

"  Fidelis !  "  he  murmured,  "  and  is  it  thee  in  truth, — 
or  do  I  dream  ?  " 

"  Dear  my  lord,  'tis  I  indeed.  How  long  hast  lain  thus? 
I  did  but  now  wake  from  my  swoon.  Is  it  thy  hurt  ?  — 
suffer  me  to  look.'* 

"  Nay,  'tis  of  none  account,  but  I  did  dream  thee  — 
dead  —  Fidelis !  " 

"  Ah,  messire,  thy  hurt  bleedeth  apace  —  the  steel  hath 
gone  deep !  Sit  you  thus,  thy  back  against  the  tree  — 
so.  Within  my  wallet  I  have  a  salve  —  wait  you  here." 
So,  whiles  Beltane  stared  dreamily  upon  the  twilit  river. 
Sir  Fidelis  hasted  up  the  bank  and  was  back  again,  the 
wallet  by  his  side,  whence  he  took  a  phial  and  goblet  and 
mixed  therein  a  draught  which  dreamy  Beltane  perforce 
must  swallow,  and  thereafter  the  dreamy  languor  fell  from 
him,  what  time  Sir  Fidelis  fell  to  bathing  and  bandaging 
the  ugly  gash  that  showed  beneath  his  knee.  Now  as  he 
watched  these  busy,  skilful  fingers  he  knew  a  sudden,  un- 
easy qualm,  and  forthwith  spake  his  thought  aloud: 

"  Thy  hands  are  wondrous  —  small  and  slender.  Sir 
Fidelis !  " 

*'  Belike,  messire,  they  shall  grow  bigger  some  day." 

"  Yet  are  they  wondrous  fair  —  and  soft  —  and  white, 
Fidelis!" 


How  Beltane  Dreamed        331 

"  Mayhap,  messire,  they  shall  grow  rough  and  brown 
and  hairy  anon  —  so  content  you." 

"  Yet  wherefore  are  they  so  soft,  Fidelis,  and  so  — 
maid-like?     And  wherefore — " 

"  See  you,  my  lord,  thus  must  the  bandage  lie,  fast- 
knotted  —  so.  Nor  must  it  slacken,  lest  the  bleeding  start 
afresh."  So  saying,  Sir  Fidelis  arose,  and  taking  the 
wallet  in  one  hand  and  setting  the  other  'neath  Beltane's 
arm,  led  him  to  where,  deep-bowered  under  screening  wil- 
lows, a  fire  burned  cheerily,  whereby  were  two  beds  of 
scented  bracken. 

Dark  and  darker  the  shadows  crept  down,  deepening  to 
a  night  soft  and  warm  and  very  still,  whose  quietude  was 
unbroken  save  for  the  drowsy  lap  and  murmur  of  the  river 
and  the  sound  the  war-horse  Mars  made  as  he  cropped  the 
grass  near  by.  Full  of  a  languorous  content  lay  Beltane, 
despite  the  smarting  of  his  wound,  what  time  Sir  Fidelis 
came  and  went  about  the  fire ;  and  there,  within  this  great 
and  silent  wilderness,  they  supped  together,  and,  while  they 
supped.  Beltane  looked  oft  upon  Sir  Fidelis,  heedful  of 
every  trick  of  mail-girt  feature  and  gesture  of  graceful 
hand  as  he  ne'er  had  been  ere  now.  Wherefore  Sir  Fi- 
delis grew  red,  grew  pale,  was  by  turns  talkative  and 
silent,  and  was  fain  to  withdraw  into  the  shadows  beyond 
the  fire.  And  from  there,  seeing  Beltane  silent  and  full 
of  thought,  grew  bold  to  question  him. 

"  Dost  meditate  our  course  to-morrow,  my  lord  Bel- 
tane? " 

"  Nay  —  I  do  but  think  —  a  strange  thought  —  that  I 
have  seen  thy  face  ere  now,  Fidelis.  Yet  art  full  young  to 
bear  arms  a-field." 

"Doth  my  youth  plague  thee  still,  messire?  Believe 
m-e,  I  am  —  older  than  I  seem." 

"  Thou,  at  peril  of  thy  life,  Fidelis,  didst  leap  'twixt 
me  and  death,  so  needs  must  I  know  thee  for  my  friend, 
and  yet — " 

"  And  yet,  messire?  " 


332  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Thou  hast  betimes  the  look  and  speech  of  one  —  of 
one  beyond  all  traitors  vile!" 

"  Ah,"  murmured  Sir  Fidelis,  a  sudden  tremor  in  his 
voice,  "  thou  dost  mean  — ?  " 

"  Helen  of  Mortain  —  poor  FideHs  —  whom  thou  dost 
love." 

"  Whom  thou  dost  hate.  Beltane !  And  O,  I  pray  thee, 
wherefore  is  thy  hate  so  bitter?  " 

"  Fidelis,  there  lived  a  fool,  that,  for  her  beauty,  loved 
her  with  a  mighty  love:  that,  for  her  seeming  truth  and 
purity,  honoured  her  beyond  all  things:  that,  in  the  end, 
did  find  her  beyond  all  things  vile.     Aye,  there  lived  a  fool 

—  and  I  am  he." 

"  Ah,  beseech  thee,"  cried  Sir  Fidelis,  white  hands  out- 
stretched, "  how  know  you  her  thus  false  to  thee,  Bel- 
tane.? " 

"  Know  then.  Sir  Fidelis,  that  —  upon  our  wedding-eve 
I  was  —  by  her  command  struck  down  —  within  the  chapel 

—  upon  the  very  altar,  and  by  her  borne  in  bonds  unto 
Garthlaxton  Keep  —  a  present  to  mine  enemy,  Duke 
Ivo  — " 

"  O,  'tis  a  lie  —  O  dear  my  lord  —  'tis  lie  most 
foul  —  !  " 

"  In  witness  whereof  behold  upon  my  wrists  the  shame- 
ful irons  from  my  dungeon  — " 

"  Alas !  here  was  no  work  of  Helen's  —  no  thought,  no 
will  —  Helen  would  have  died  to  save  thee  this  — " 

"  So,  Fidelis,  do  I  scorn  all  women  that  do  live  upon  this 
earth  henceforth  —  but,  above  all,  Helen  the  Beautiful ! 
the  Wilful !  who  in  her  white  bosom  doth  bear  a  heart  more 
foul  than  Trojan  Helen,  that  was  a  woman  false  and 
damned.      So  now,  all's  said." 

Now  fell  Sir  Fidelis  upon  his  knees  and  spake  quick  and 
passionate : 

"  Nay,  Beltane,  hear  me !  For  now  do  I  swear  that  he 
who  told  thee  'twas  Helen  wrought  thee  this  vile  wrong  — 
who  told  thee  this  doth  lie  —  O,  doth  lie !  Now  do  I  swear 
that  never  by  word  or  thought  or  deed,  hath  she  been 


How  Beltane  Dreamed        333 

false  to  thee  —  I  do  swear  she  loveth  thee  —  ah,  spurn  me 
not  —  O,  believe  — " 

"Enough  —  enough,  good  Fidelis,  perjure  not  thy 
sweet  youth  for  one  so  much  unworthy,  for  with  these  eyes 
did  I  behold  her  as  they  bore  me  in  my  bonds  —  and  shall 
I  not  believe  mine  eyes  ?  " 

"  Never  —  ah !  never,  when  they  do  shew  thee  Helen 
false  and  cruel  to  thee !  Here  was  some  vile  magic  — 
witchcraft  — " 

"  Enough,  Fidelis,  'tis  past  and  done.  Here  was  a 
woman  false  —  well,  'tis  none  so  singular  —  there  have 
been  others  —  there  will  be  others.  So,  God  keep  thee, 
sweet  youth,  from  the  ways  of  women.  Nay,  let  us  speak 
of  this  no  more,  for  in  sooth  I  grow  a-weary  and  we  must 
ride  with  the  dawn  to-morrow.  So,  betake  thee  to  thy 
rest,  nor  grieve  thee  for  my  sorrows  past  and  done  — 
mayhap  they  shall  be  things  to  smile  upon  one  day." 

So  saying.  Beltane  sighed,  and  laid  him  down  among 
the  bracken  and  thereafter  Fidelis  did  the  like;  the  fire 
sank  and  waned,  and  oft  Sir  Fidelis  stirred  restless  in  the 
shadows ;  the  river  murmured  slumberously  among  the 
sedge,  but  Beltane,  hearkening  with  drowsy  ears,  oft 
thought  to  hear  another  sound,  very  soft  and  repressed 
yet  very  dolorous,  ere,  worn  and  spent,  and  something 
weakened  by  wound  and  loss  of  blood,  he  sank  at  last  to 
deep  and  gentle  sleep. 

But  in  his  sleep  he  dreamed  that  one  knelt  above  him  in 
the  dark,  keeping  watch  upon  his  slumbers  in  the  attitude 
of  one  in  prayer  —  one  whom  he  knew,  yet  knew  not ;  it 
seemed  to  Beltane  in  his  dream,  that  this  silent,  slender 
shape,  stooped  of  a  sudden,  low  and  lower,  to  kiss  the  iron 
fetters  that  bound  his  wrists ;  then  Beltane  strove  to  wake 
yet  could  not  wake,  but  in  his  slumber  sighed  a  name,  soft- 
breathed  and  gentle  as  the  languorous  murmur  of  the 
stream : 

"Helen!" 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

HO^r    BELTANE    KNEW    GREAT    HUMILITY 

The  rising  sun,  darting  an  inquisitive  beam  'twixt  a  leafy 
opening,  fell  upon  Beltane's  wide,  slow-heaving  breast; 
crept  upwards  to  his  chin,  his  cheek,  and  finally  strove  to 
peep  beneath  his  slumberous,  close-shut  lids ;  whereat  Bel- 
tane stirred,  yawned,  threw  wide  and  stretched  his  mighty 
arms,  and  thereafter,  blinking  drowsily,  sat  up,  his  golden 
hair  be-tousled,  and  stared  sleepily  about  him. 

Birds  piped  joyously  near  and  far;  hid  among  the 
leaves  near  by,  the  war-horse  Mars  stamped  eager  hoof 
and  snufFed  the  fragrant  air  of  morning;  but  Sir  Fidelis 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Thus  in  a  while  Beltane  arose  to 
find  his  leg  very  stiff  and  sore,  and  his  throat  be-parched 
with  feverish  thirst ;  wherefore,  limping  painfully,  he 
turned  where  a  little  water-brook  went  singing  o'er  pebbly 
bed  to  join  the  slow-moving  river;  but,  putting  aside  the 
leaves,  he  paused  of  a  sudden,  for  there,  beside  the  noisy 
streamlet  he  beheld  Sir  Fidelis,  his  bascinet  upon  the  grass 
beside  him,  his  mail-coif  thrown  back  betwixt  his  shoul- 
ders, stooping  to  bathe  his  face  in  the  sparkling  water. 

Now  would  he  have  called  a  greeting,  but  the  words  died 
upon  his  lips,  his  breath  stayed,  and  he  stared  at  some- 
thing that  had  caught  in  the  links  of  the  young  knight's 
mail-coif,  something  that  stirred  light  and  wanton,  kissed 
by  the  breath  of  early  morn  —  a  lock  of  bright  hair  that 
glowed  a  wondrous  red-gold  in  the  new-risen  sun.  So 
stood  Beltane  awhile,  and,  beholding  this,  a  trembling 
seized  him  and  therewith  sudden  anger,  and  he  strode  forth 
of  the  leaves.  And  lo!  on  the  instant,  on  went  hood  of 
mail  and  thereafter  shining  bascinet,  and  Sir  Fidelis  arose. 
But,  ere  he  could  turn.  Beltane  was  beside  him,  had  caught 


How  Beltane  Knew  Humility      335 

him  within  a  powerful  arm,  and,  setting  a  hand  'neath 
mailed  chin,  lifted  the  young  knight's  head  and  scowled 
down  into  his  face. 

Eyes  long,  black-lashed  and  darkly  blue  that  looked  up 
awhile  into  his,  wide,  yet  fearless,  and  anon,  were  hid 
'neath  languorous-drooping  lids ;  a  nose  tenderly  aquiline, 
lips  red  and  full  that  met  in  ripe  and  luscious  curves. 
This  Beltane  saw,  and  straightway  his  anger  grew. 

"  Ah ! "  cried  he,  hoarsely,  "  now,  by  the  living  God, 
who  art  thou,  and  —  what  ?  " 

"  Thy  —  comrade-in-arms,  lord  Beltane." 

"  Why  hast  thou  the  seeming  of  one  beyond  all  womeh 
false.''  Why  dost  thou  speak  me  betimes  in  her  voice,  look 
at  me  with  her  eyes,  touch  me  with  her  soft,  white,  traitor's 
hands  —  answer  me !  " 

*'  My  lord,  we  are  akin,  she  and  I  —  of  the  same  house 
and  blood  — " 

**  Then  is  thy  blood  foul  with  treachery !  " 

"  Yet  did  I  save  thy  life.  Beltane !  " 

"  Yet  thy  soft  voice,  thy  red  mouth  and  false  eyes  — 
thj  very  blood  —  all  these  do  prove  thee  traitor  — 
hence ! "  and  Beltane  threw  him  off. 

"  Nay  my  lord !  "  he  cried,  "  prithee  take  care.  Beltane, 
—  see  —  thou  hast  displaced  the  bandage,  thy  wound 
bleedeth  amain  —  so  will  I  bind  it  up  for  thee  — '* 

But  Beltane,  nothing  heeding,  turned  and  strode  back 
into  the  green  and  there  fell  to  donning  his  armour  as 
swiftly  as  he  might  —  albeit  stealthily.  Thereafter  came 
he  to  the  destrier  Mars  and,  having  saddled  and  bridled 
him  with  the  same  swift  stealth,  set  foot  in  stirrup  and 
would  have  mounted,  yet  found  this  a  painful  matter  by 
reason  of  his  wound ;  thus  it  befell,  that,  ere  he  could  reach 
the  saddle,  the  leaves  parted  close  by  and  Sir  Fidelis  spake 
soft-voiced : 

"  My  lord  Beltane,  why  dost  thou  steal  away  thus  ?  An 
it  be  thy  will  to  leave  me  to  perish  alone  here  in  the  wilder- 
ness, first  break  thy  fast,  and  suffer  me  to  bind  up  thy 
hurt,  so  shalt  thou  ride  hence  in  comfort." 


33^ 


Beltane  the  Smith 


Now  stood  Beltane  motionless  and  silent,  nor  turned  nor 
dared  he  look  upon  Sir  Fidelis,  but  bowed  his  head  in  bit- 
ter shame,  and,  therewith,  knew  a  great  remorse. 

"  Ah,  Fidelis,"  said  he  at  last,  "  thy  rebuke  stingeth 
deep,  for  it  is  just,  since  I  indeed  did  purpose  thee  a  most 
vile  thing !     How  vile  a  thing,  then,  am  I  — " 

"  Nay,  Beltane  —  dear  my  lord,  I  would  not  have  thee 
grieve,  indeed  'twas  but  — " 

"  Once  ere  this  I  would  have  slain  thee,  Fidelis  —  mur- 
dered thee  before  my  wild  fellows  —  I  —  I,  that  did 
preach  them  mercy  and  gentleness !  To-day  I  would  have 
left  thee  to  perish  alone  within  this  ravening  wilderness  — 
that  do  bear  so  honourable  a  name!  O  Beltane,  my 
father !  Yet,  believe  me,  I  did  love  honour  once,  and  was 
accounted  gentle.  I  did  set  forth  to  do  great  things,  but 
now  —  now  do  I  know  myself  unfit  and  most  unworthy. 
Therefore,  Sir  Fidelis,  do  thou  take  the  horse  and  what 
thou  wilt  beside  and  leave  me  here,  for  fain  am  I  to  end 
my  days  within  these  solitudes  with  no  eye  to  see  me 
more  —  save  only  the  eye  of  God !  "  So  saying.  Beltane 
went  aside,  and  sitting  'neath  a  tree  beside  the  river,  bowed 
his  head  upon  his  hands  and  groaned;  then  came  Sir  Fi- 
delis full  swift,  and  stooping,  touched  his  bowed  head  with 
gentle  hand,  whereat  he  but  groaned  again. 

"  God  pity  me !  "  quoth  he,  "  I  am  in  sooth  so  changed, 
meseemeth  some  vile  demon  doth  possess  me  betimes ! " 
and,  sighing  deep,  he  gazed  upon  the  rippling  waters  wide- 
eyed  and  fearful.  And,  as  he  sat  thus,  abashed  and  de- 
spairing. Sir  Fidelis,  speaking  no  word,  bathed  and  bound 
up  his  wound,  and,  thereafter  brought  and  spread  forth 
their  remaining  viands. 

"  Eat,"  said  he  gently,  *'  come,  let  us  break  our  fast, 
mayhap  thy  sorrows  shall  grow  less  anon.  Come,  eat, 
I  pray  thee,  Beltane,  for  none  will  I  eat  alone  and,  O,  I 
famish ! " 

So  they  ate  together,  whiles  the  war-horse  Mars,  paw- 
ing impatient  hoof,  oft  turned  his  great  head  to  view  them 
"with  round  and  wistful  eye. 


How  Beltane  Knew  Humility      337 

"  Fidelis,"  quoth  Beltane  suddenly,  "  thou  didst  name 
me  selfish,  and  verily,  a  selfish  man  am  I  —  and  to-day ! 
O  Fidelis,  why  dost  not  reproach  me  for  the  evil  I  pur- 
posed thee  to-day?  " 

"  For  that  I  do  most  truly  love  thee,  Beltane  my  lord ! " 

"  Yet  wherefore  did  ye  so  yesterday,  and  for  lesser 
fault?" 

"  For  that  I  did  love  thee,  so  would  I  see  thee  a  strong 
man  —  yet  gentle :  a  potent  lord,  yet  humble :  a  noble  man 
as  —  as  thou  wert  said  to  be !  " 

"  Alas,  my  Fidelis,  harsh  have  I  been,  proud  and  unfor- 
giving — " 

"  Aye,  my  lord  —  thou  art  unforgiving  —  a  little !  " 

"  So  now,  Fidelis,  would  I  crave  forgiveness  of  all  men." 
Then  came  the  young  knight  nearer  yet,  his  face  radiant 
with  sudden  joy,  his  white  hands  clasped. 

*'  Lord !  "  he  whispered,  "  O  Beltane,  could'st  indeed 
forgive  all  —  all  harm  done  thee,  howsoever  great  or  small 
thy  mind  doth  hold  them  —  could'st  forgive  all !  " 

"  Aye,  I  could  forgive  them  all,  Fidelis  —  all  save  Helen 
—  who  hath  broke  this  heart  of  mine  and  made  my  soul  a 
thing  as  black  as  she  hath  whited  this  my  hair." 

Now  of  a  sudden  Beltane  heard  a  sound  —  a  small  sound 
'twixt  a  sob  and  a  moan,  but  when  he  raised  his  heavy 
head  —  lo !  Sir  Fidelis  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

HOW  A   MADNESS    CAME   UPON   BELTANE  IN  THE   WILD-WOOD 

The  sun  rose  high,  yet  still  Beltane  sat  there  beside  the 
stream,  staring  down  into  the  gurgling  waters,  grieving 
amain  for  his  unworthiness. 

Thus  presently  comes  Sir  Fidelis,  and  standing  afar, 
spake  in  voice  strange  and  bitter: 

"What  do  ye  there,  my  lord?  Dost  dream  ever  upon 
thy  woes  and  ills?  Wilt  dream  thy  life  away  here  amid 
the  wild,  forsooth?  " 

Quoth  Beltane,  very  humbly : 

"  And  wherefore  not,  Sir  Fidelis  ?  Unfit  am  I  for  great 
achievements.  But,  as  to  thee,  take  now  the  horse  and 
ride  you  ever  north  and  west  — " 

"  Yea,  but  where  is  north,  and  where  west  —  ?  " 

"  The  trees  shall  tell  you  this.     Hearken  now  — " 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  no  forester  am  I  to  find  my  way  through 
trackless  wild.  So,  an  thou  stay,  so,  perforce,  must  I: 
and  if  thou  stay  then  art  thou  deeply  forsworn." 

"  How  mean  you,  good  sir?  " 

"  I  mean  Belsaye  —  I  mean  all  those  brave  souls  that  do 
wait  and  watch,  pale-cheeked,  'gainst  Ivo's  threatened  ven- 
geance — " 

"  Ha  —  Belsaye!  "  quoth  Beltane,  lifting  his  head. 

"  Thou  must  save  Belsaye  from  flame  and  ravishment, 
my  lord ! " 

"  Aye,  forsooth,"  cried  Beltane,  clenching  his  hands, 
"  though  I  be  unworthy  to  stand  in  my  noble  father's 
place,  yet  Belsaye  must  be  saved  or  I  die  in  it.  O  Fidelis, 
friend  art  thou  indeed  and  wise  beyond  thy  years !  "  But 
as  Beltane  arose.  Sir  Fidelis  incontinent  turned  away,  and 
presently   came  back  leading  the  great  horse.     So  in  a 


HowMadness  Came  Upon  Beltane   339 

while  they  set  out  northwards;  but  now  were  no  arms  to 
clasp  and  cling,  since  Sir  Fidelis  found  hold  otherwhere. 
Thus,  after  some  going.  Beltane  questioned  him: 

"Art  easy,  Fidelis?" 

"Aye,  lord!" 

"Wilt  not  take  hold  upon  my  belt,  as  yesterday?" 

"  Methinks  I  am  better  thus." 

*'  Nay  then,  shalt  have  stirrups  and  saddle,  for  I  am 
fain  to  walk." 

"And  re-open  thy  wound,  messire?  Nay,  let  be  —  I 
ride  easily  thus." 

"  Art  angered  with  me,  Fidelis  ?  " 

"  Nay,  lord,  I  do  but  pity  thee !  " 

*'  And  wherefore  ?  " 

"  For  thy  so  great  loneliness  —  in  all  thy  world  is  none 
but  Beltane,  and  he  is  very  woeful  and  dreameth  ever  of 
his  wrongs  — " 

"  Would'st  call  me  selfish  again,  forsooth?" 

"  Nay,  lord  —  a  martyr.  O,  a  very  martyr  that  hug- 
geth  his  chains  and  kisseth  his  wounds  and  joyeth  in  the 
recollection  of  his  pain." 

"Have  I  not  suffered,  Fidelis?" 

"  Thou  hast  known  the  jangling  gloom  of  a  dungeon  — 
'twas  at  Garthlaxton  Keep,  methinks  ?  " 

"Fetters!"  cried  Beltane,  "a  dungeon!  These  be 
things  to  smile  at  —  my  grief  is  of  the  mind  —  the  deeper 
woe  of  high  and  noble  ideals  shattered  —  a  holy  altar 
blackened  and  profaned  —  a  woman  worshipped  as  divine, 
and  proved  baser  than  the  basest !  " 

"And  is  this  all,  my  lord?" 

"  All !  "  quoth  Beltane  amazed.  "  All !  "  saith  he,  turn- 
ing to  stare. 

"  So  much  of  woe  and  tribulation  for  so  little  reason? 
Nay,  hear  me,  for  now  will  I  make  thee  a  prophecy,  as 
thus:  There  shall  dawn  a  day,  lord  Beltane,  when  thou 
shalt  see  at  last  and  know  Truth  when  she  stands  before 
thee.  And,  in  that  day  thou  shalt  behold  all  things  with 
new  eyes :  and  in  that  day  shalt  thou  sigh,  and  long,  and 


340  Beltane  the  Smith 


yearn  with  all  thy  soul  for  these  woeful  hours  wherein  Self 
looms  for  thee  so  large  thou  art  blind  to  aught  else." 
"  Good  Fidelis,  thy  prophecy  is  beyond  my  understand- 

"  Aye,  my  lord,  'tis  so  I  think,  indeed !  " 
"  Pray  thee  therefore  rede  and  expound  it  unto  me !  " 
"  Nay,  time  mayhap  shall  teach  it  thee,  and  thou,  me- 
thinks  shalt  passionately  desire  again  the  solitude  of  this 
wilderness." 

"Aye,  but  wherefore?" 

"  For  that  it  shall  be  beyond  thy  reach  —  and  mine !  " 
and  Fidelis  sighed  in  deep  and  troubled  fashion  and  so  fell 
to  silence,  what  time  Beltane,  cunning  in  wood-lore,  glanc- 
ing hither  and  thither  at  knotted  branch  and  writhen  tree 
bole,  viewing  earth  and  heaven  with  a  forester's  quick  eye, 
rode  on  into  the  trackless  wilds  of  the  forest-lands. 

Now  here,  thinketh  the  historian,  it  booteth  not  to  tell 
of  all  those  minor  haps  and  chances  that  befell  them ;  how, 
despite  all  Beltane's  wood-craft,  they  went  astray  full  oft 
by  reason  of  fordless  rivers  and  quaking  swamps:  of  how 
they  snared  game  to  their  sustenance,  or  how,  for  all  the 
care  and  skill  of  Sir  Fidelis,  Beltane's  wound  healed  not, 
by  reason  of  continual  riding,  for  that  each  day  he  grew 
more  restless  and  eager  for  knowledge  of  Belsaye,  so  that, 
because  of  his  wound  he  knew  small  rest  by  day  and  a 
fevered  sleep  by  night  —  yet,  despite  all,  his  love  for  Fi- 
delis daily  waxed  and  grew,  what  time  he  pressed  on 
through  the  wild  country,  north-westerly. 

Five  weary  days  and  nights  wandered  they,  lost  to  sight 
and  knowledge  within  the  wild ;  days  of  heat  and  nights  of 
pain  and  travail,  until  there  came  an  evening  when,  racked 
with  anguish  and  faint  with  thirst  and  weariness,  Beltane 
drew  rein  within  a  place  of  rocks  whereby  was  a  shady  pool 
deep-bowered  in  trees.  Down  sprang  Fidelis  to  look  anx- 
iously on  Beltane's  face,  pale  and  haggard  in  the  light  of 
a  great  moon. 

Says  Beltane,  looking  round  about  with  knitted  brow: 
"  Fidelis  —  O  Fidelis,   methinks   I   know  this   place  — 


How  Madness  Came  Upon  Beltane    341 

these  rocks  —  the  pool  yonder  —  there  should  be  a  road 
hereabout,  the  great  road  that  leadeth  to  Mortain.  Climb 
now  the  steep  and  tell  me  an  you  can  see  a  road,  running 
north  and  south." 

Forthwith  Sir  Fidelis  climbed  the  rocky  eminence,  and, 
being  there,  cried  right  joyously: 

"Aye,  lord — 'tis  the  road  —  the  road!"  and  so  came 
hastily  down,  glad-eyed.  "  'Tis  the  end  of  this  wilder- 
ness at  last,  my  lord  1 " 

"  Aye !  "  sighed  Beltane,  "  at  last !  "  and  groaning,  he 
swayed  in  the  saddle  —  for  his  pain  was  very  sore  —  and 
would  have  fallen  but  for  the  ready  arms  of  Sir  Fidelis. 
Thereafter,  with  much  labour,  Beltane  got  him  to  earth, 
and  Fidelis  brought  him  where,  beneath  the  steep,  was  a 
shallow  cave  carpeted  with  soft  moss,  very  excellent  suited 
to  their  need.  Here  Beltane  laid  him  down,  watching  a 
little  cataract  that  rippled  o'er  the  rocky  bank  near  by, 
where  ferns  and  lichens  grew ;  what  time  Sir  Fidelis  came 
and  went,  and,  having  set  fire  a-going  whereby  to  cook 
their  supper,  brought  an  armful  of  fragrant  heather  to 
set  'neath  Beltane's  weary  head.  Then,  having  given  him 
to  drink  of  the  cordial,  fell  to  work  bathing  and  bandag- 
ing his  wound,  sighing  often  to  see  it  so  swollen  and 
angry. 

"  Fidelis,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  raethinks  there  is  some  magic 
in  thy  touch,  for  now  is  my  pain  abated  —  hast  a  won- 
drous gentle  hand — " 

"  'Tis  the  cordial  giveth  thee  respite,  lord  — " 

"  Nay,  'tis  thy  hand,  methinks.  Sure  no  man  e'er  was 
blest  with  truer  friend  than  thou,  my  Fidelis ;  brave  art 
thou,  yet  tender  as  any  woman,  and  rather  would  I  have 
thy  love  than  the  love  of  any  man  or  Avoman  soever,  hence- 
forth, dear  my  friend.  Nay,  wherefore  hang  thy  head-f^ 
without  thee  I  had  died  many  times  ere  this ;  without  thy 
voice  to  cheer  me  in  these  solitudes,  thy  strength  and  skill 
to  aid  me,  I  had  fallen  into  madness  and  death.  Where- 
fore I  do  love  thee,  Fidelis,  and  fain  would  have  thee  go 
beside  me  ever  —  so  great  is  become  my  need  of  thee." 


342  Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Ah,  Beltane,  thou  dost  know  I  will  ne'er  desert  thee !  '* 

"  So  henceforth  am  I  content  —  and  yet  — " 

"  Well,  mj  lord?  " 

"  To-morrow,  perchance,  shall  see  the  end  of  this  our 
solitude  and  close  comradeship  —  to-morrow  we  should 
reach  Hundleby  Fen.  So,  Fidelis,  promise  me,  if  thou,  at 
any  time  hereafter  should  see  me  harsh,  or  proud,  or  self- 
ish —  do  thou  mind  me  of  these  days  of  our  love  and  com- 
panionship.    Wilt  promise  me?  " 

"  Aye,  lord ! "  spake  Sir  Fidelis,  low-bending  to  his 
task;  and  thereafter  sighed,  and  bowed  him  lower  yet. 

"  Wherefore  dost  thou  sigh?  " 

"  For  that  I  feel  as  if  —  ah.  Beltane !  —  as  if  this  night 
should  be  the  end  of  our  love  and  comradeship !  " 

"  Nought  but  death  shall  do  this,  methinks." 

"  Why  then,"  said  Fidelis  as  he  rose,  "  an  it  must  be, 
fain  would  I  have  death." 

But  when  Beltane  would  have  questioned  him  further  he 
smiled  sad  and  wistful  and  went  forth  to  the  fire.  Up 
rose  the  moon,  a  thing  of  glory  filling  the  warm,  stilly 
night  with  a  soft  and  radiant  splendour  —  a  tender 
light,  fraught  with  a  subtle  magic,  whereby  all  things, 
rock  and  tree  and  leaping  brook,  found  a  new  and  added 
beauty. 

And  in  some  while  comes  Sir  Fidelis  to  set  out  their 
viands,  neat  and  orderly,  as  was  ever  his  custom,  and  there- 
after must  needs  chide  Beltane,  soft-voiced,  for  his  lack 
of  hunger,  and  cut  dainty  morsels,  wooing  him  thereby 
to  eat. 

"  Fidelis,"  says  Beltane,  "  on  so  fair  a  night  as  this, 
methinks,  the  old  fables  and  romances  might  well  be  true 
that  tell  of  elves  that  dance  on  moony  nights,  and  of 
shapely  nymphs  and  lovely  dryads  that  are  the  spirits  of 
the  trees.  Aye,  in  the  magic  of  so  fair  a  night  as  this 
aught  might  happen  —  miracles  and  wonders." 

"  Save  one  thing,  dear  my  lord." 

"  As  what,  my  Fidelis  ?  " 

"  That  thou  should'st  dream  Helen  pure  and  faithful 


How  Madness  Came  Upon  Beltane    343 

and  worthy  to  thy  love  —  that,  doubting  thine  own  senses, 
thou  should'st  yearn  and  sigh  to  hold  her  once  again,  heart 
on  heart  — " 

"  Ah,  FideHs,"  quoth  Beltane,  sighing  deep,  *'  why  wilt 
thou  awake  a  sleeping  sorrow?  My  love  was  dead  long 
since,  meseemeth,  and  buried  in  mine  heart.  O  Fidelis, 
mine  eyes,  mine  ears,  my  every  sense  do  tell  me  she  is  false 
—  so  is  an  end  of  love  for  me  henceforth." 

"  Dear  my  lord,"  spake  Fidelis,  and  his  voice  thrilled 
strangely  in  Beltane's  ears  — "  O,  Beltane,  my  lord, 
could'st  thou  but  doubt  thyself  a  little  —  could'st  thou, 
doubting  thine  own  senses  for  love's  sake,  believe  her  now 
true  —  true  as  thou  would'st  have  her,  then  Love  indeed 
might  work  for  thee  a  miracle  this  night  and  thou  be  loved 
as  man  of  god-like  faith." 

"  Nay,  sweet  Fidelis,  I  am  but  a  man,  apt  to  evil  be- 
times and  betimes  seeking  good.  Howbeit,  now  am  I  a 
weary  man  that  fain  would  sleep.  Come  then,  lay  you 
down  here  beside  me  where  I  may  touch  thee  an  I  awake 
i'  the  night."  And,  lying  down.  Beltane  beckoned  Fidelis 
beside  him. 

So  in  a  while  the  young  knight  came  and  did  as  Bel- 
tane bade,  and  side  by  side  they  lay  within  the  shelter 
of  the  little  cave ;  and  in  the  dark.  Beltane  set  his  mighty 
arm  about  him  and  thereafter  spake,  wondering: 
"Art  not  cold,  Fidelis?" 
"  Nay,  lord." 

"  Then  why  dost  tremble  ?  " 

*'  Indeed  I  know  not  —  mayhap  I  grieved  that  —  the 
age  of  miracles  —  is  passed  away." 

Now  at  this  Beltane  wondered  the  more  and  would  fain 
have  questioned  him,  but  in  that  moment  sighed,  and  fell 
to  slumber.  But  in  his  sleep  he  dreamed  that  Fidelis  was 
beset  by  foes  and  cried  to  him  for  aid,  whereon  he  would 
have  hasted  to  his  deliverance  yet  could  not  for  that  un- 
seen hands  held  him  fast;  then  strove  he  amain  against 
these  griping  hands,  and  so  awaked  in  sudden  terror  and 
lay  there  trembling  in  the  dark ;  and  in  the  dark  he  reached 


344  Beltane  the  Smith 

out  cautious  hand  further  and  further  and  so  found  him- 
self alone  —  for  the  young  knight  was  gone. 

Now  being  very  sick  with  the  fever  of  his  wound,  dread 
came  upon  him,  fear  seized  and  shook  him,  and,  trembling 
in  the  dark  he  called  aloud  "  Fidelis !  Fidelis !  "  But  no 
sound  heard  he  save  the  ripple  of  the  brook  near  by. 
Groaning,  he  arose  and,  limping  forth  of  the  cave  stood  in 
the  glory  of  the  moon,  voiceless  now  by  reason  of  his  ever- 
growing terror;  conscious  only  of  his  passionate  desire 
to  find  again  the  youth  whose  gentle  voice  had  cheered  him 
often  in  the  dark,  whose  high  courage  and  tender  care  had 
never  failed.  So,  leaning  upon  his  great  sword,  Beltane 
limped  through  light  and  shadow,  heedless  of  direction, 
until  he  was  stayed  by  the  waters  of  the  pool. 

A  faint  splash,  a  rippling  of  the  sleepy  waters,  and,  out 
into  the  moonlight  came  one  that  swam  the  pool  with  long, 
easy  strokes ;  one  that  presently  leapt  lightly  ashore  and 
stood  there  to  shake  down  the  unwetted  glory  of  her  hair. 
At  first  he  thought  this  some  enchanted  pool  and  she  the 
goddess  of  the  place,  but  even  then  she  turned,  and  thus  at 
last  —  he  knew.  And  in  that  moment  also,  she  beheld  him 
amid  the  leaves ;  tall  and  fair  she  stood,  proud  and  maid- 
enly, nor  moved  she,  nor  spake:  only  she  shook  about  her 
loveliness  the  shining  mantle  of  her  hair.  And  beholding 
the  reproachful  sadness  of  those  clear,  virgin  eyes.  Bel- 
tane, abashed  by  her  very  beauty,  bowed  his  head,  and 
turning,  stumbled  away  and  thus  presently  finding  himself 
within  the  cave,  threw  himself  down  and  clasped  his  head 
within  fierce  hands.  Yet,  even  so,  needs  must  he  behold 
the  slim,  white  beauty  of  her,  the  rippling  splendour  of 
her  hair,  and  the  deep,  shy  sadness  of  her  eyes,  and,  be- 
cause of  her  beauty  he  trembled,  and  because  of  her  falsity 
he  groaned  aloud. 

Now  as  he  lay  thus,  after  some  while  he  heard  a  swift, 
light  footfall,  the  Avhisper  of  mail,  and  knew  that  she  stood 
above  him ;  yet  he  heeded  not,  wherefore  at  last  she  spake, 
sweet-voiced  and  gentle. 

"  Beltane  —  dear  my  lord,  now  dost  thou  know  who  is 


How  Madness  Came  Upon  Beltane    345 

Fidelis,  and  thou  didst  —  love  Fidelis !  "  But  Beltane 
stirred  not,  and  finding  him  silent,  she  spake  on,  yet  falter- 
ing a  little: 

"  When  I  waked  from  my  swoon  within  the  chapel  at  — 
at  Blaen,  and  found  thee  gone,  I,  distraught  with  woeful 
fear  and  a  most  strange  sickness,  took  thy  sword  and 
therewith  horse  and  armour  and  in  that  same  hour  fled 
from  Blaen,  none  knowing.  Many  days  I  rode  seeking 
thee,  until  Love  brought  me  to  thee  in  the  green.  But,  O 
Beltane,  for  those  dire  chances  of  our  —  wedding  night, 
by  what  spells  and  witchcraft  our  happiness  was  changed 
to  sorrow  and  dire  amaze,  I  know  no  more  than  thou.  Ah, 
Beltane  —  dear  my  lord  —  speak  —  speak  to  me !  '*  And 
falling  on  her  knees  she  would  have  lifted  his  head.  But 
of  a  sudden  he  shrank  away,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Touch  me  not,  I  am  but  a  man  and  thou  —  art  woman, 
and  there  is  evil  in  thee,  so  touch  me  not  with  thy  false, 
alluring  hands.  O,  thou  hast  deceived  me  now  as  ever  — 
As  Fidelis  did  I  love  thee  above  all  men,  but  for  what  thou 
art,  I  do  despise  thee — " 

But,  with  sudden  gesture  passionate  and  yearning,  she 
reached  out  her  white  hands,  and,  kneeling  thus,  looked  up 
at  him  with  eyes  a-swoon  Avith  love  and  supplication. 

"  Beltane !  "  she  sighed,  "  Beltane !  Is  thy  great  love 
dead  in  very  truth?  nay,  indeed  I  know  it  liveth  yet  even 
as  mine,  and  shall  live  on  forever.  I  know  —  I  have  seen 
it  leap  within  thine  eyes,  heard  it  in  thy  voice  —  and  where- 
fore did'st  thou  love  Fidelis  ?  Look  at  me.  Beltane !  I 
can  be  as  brave,  as  faithful  and  tender  as  Fidelis!  Look 
at  me ! " 

But  Beltane  dared  not  look,  and  trembled  because  of 
her  so  great  beauty,  and  fain  would  speak  yet  could  not. 
Whereat  she,  3'et  upon  her  knees,  drew  nearer. 
"  Beltane,"  she  murmured,  "  trust  me.  Despite  thyself, 
O,  trust  me  —  so  shalt  thou  find  happiness  at  last  and 
Pentavalon  an  end  to  all  her  sorrows.  Be  thou  my  lord, 
my  master  —  my  dear  love  and  husband  —  ride  with  me 
this  night  to  my  fair  Mortain  — " 


34^ 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  To  Mortain  ?  "  cried  Beltane  wildly,  "  aye,  to  Blaen, 
belike  —  to  silken  wantonings  and  to  —  death  !  Tempt 
me  not,  O  witch  —  aye,  witch  that  weaveth  spells  of  her 
beauty  —  tempt  me  not  I  say,  lest  I  slay  thee  to  mine  own 
defence,  for  I  know  thee  beyond  aU  women  fair,  yet  would 
I  slay  thee  first — "  But,  groaning.  Beltane  cast  aside 
his  sword  and  covered  burning  eyes  with  burning  palms, 
yet  shook  as  with  an  ague  fit. 

The  pleading  hands  fell,  to  clasp  and  wring  each  other ; 
her  proud  head  sank,  and  a  great  sob  brake  from  her,  what 
time  Beltane  watched  her  with  eyes  bright  with  fever  and 
swayed  upon  his  feet.  Stumbling,  he  turned  and  left  her, 
yet  presently  came  back  leading  the  war-horse  Mars. 

"  To  Mortain  shalt  thou  ride  to-night  —  I  pray  thee 
mount !  "  cried  he,  "  Come  —  mount,  I  say !  " 

Standing  tall  and  proud  before  him  she  sighed  and  spake 
deep-sorrowing : 

"  Then  will  I  leave  thee  —  an  it  must  be  so.  But,  in 
days  to  come,  mayhap,  thou  shalt  grieve  for  this  hour, 
Beltane,  nor  shall  all  thy  sighs  nor  all  thy  tears  avail  to 
bring  it  back  again.  Thou  hast  shamed  me  oft,  yet  for 
all  thy  bitter  scorns  I  do  forgive  thee,  aye,  even  the  an- 
guish of  my  breaking  heart,  for  that  my  love  doth  rise 
beyond  my  pain ;  and  so,  dear  my  lord  —  fare  thee  well !  " 

So  she  mounted,  whereat  the  mettled  charger  must  needs 
rear,  and  Beltane,  staggering  aside,  catch  at  a  tree  and 
lean  there. 

"Art  sick.  Beltane.?"  she  cried  in  sudden  fear — "  ho\r 
may  I  leave  thee  thus  —  art  sick !  " 

"  Aye,  Helen,  for  thy  beauty.  The  devil  is  here,  and 
I  am  here,  so  here  is  no  place  for  thee  —  so  get  thee  gone, 
spur  —  spur !  for  despising  thee  in  my  heart  yet  would  I 
have  thee  stay :  yet,  an  thou  stay  needs  must  I  slay  thee  ere 
the  dawn  and  myself  thereafter !  " 

Thus  spake  he,  his  voice  loud,  his  speech  quick  and  fe- 
vered. 

"  Indeed,  thou'rt  sick,  my  lord  —  nor  do  I  fear  thee, 
thou  noble  son  of  noble  father !  " 


How  Madness  Came  Upon  Beltane    347 

"  My  father !  Forsooth  he  llveth  in  Holy  Cross 
Thicket  within  Mortain ;  he  bade  me  beware  of  women  and 
the  ways  of  women.  So  do  I  know  thee  witch,  thou  golden 
Helen.  Ha !  must  Troy  burn  again  —  I  loved  thee  once, 
but  love  is  dead  long  since  and  turned  corrupt  —  so  get 
thee  hence,  Helen  the  Wilful !  " 

"  O,  God  pity  thee,  my  Beltane,  for  thou  dost  love  me 
yet,  even  as  I  love  thee  —  thou  lonely  man-child !  God 
pity  thee,  and  me  also !  "  and,  crying  thus,  forlorn  and  des- 
olate, the  Duchess  Helen  rode  upon  her  solitary  way. 

Then  turned  Beltane  and  stumbled  on  he  knew  not 
whither,  and  betimes  he  laughed  loud  and  high  and  betimes 
he  was  shaken  by  great  and  fierce  sobs,  yet  found  he  never 
a  tear.  Thus,  limping  painfully,  and  stumbling  anon  as 
one  smitten  blind,  he  wandered  awhile,  and  so  at  length 
found  himself  beside  the  little  cave;  and  throwing  himself 
down  within  its  shadows,  tore  away  the  bandages  her  gen- 
tle hands  had  wrought. 

And  lying  there,  it  seemed  that  Fidelis  yet  lay  beneath 
his  arm,  the  Fidelis  who  was  no  Fidelis ;  and  in  the  shadows 
he  laughed  amain  —  wild  laughter  that  died  of  a  sudden, 
choked  by  awful  sobs,  what  time  he  clenched  his  hands 
upon  his  throbbing  ears ;  yet  still,  above  the  sounds  of  his 
own  anguish,  needs  must  he  hear  again  that  forlorn  and 
desolate  cry : 

"  O,  God  pity  thee,  Beltane ! " 

"  And  now  followed  long  hours  when  demons  vile  racked 
him  with  anguish  and  mocked  him  with  bitter  gibes ;  a 
haunted  darkness  where  was  fear  and  doubt  and  terror  of 
things  unknown:  yet,  in  the  blackness,  a  light  that  grew 
to  a  glory  wherein  no  evil  thing  might  be,  and  in  this  glory 
SHE  did  stand,  tall  and  fair  and  virginal.  And  from  the 
depths  of  blackness,  he  cried  to  her  in  agony  of  remorse, 
and  from  the  light  she  looked  down  on  him  with  eyes 
brimful  of  yearning  love  and  tenderness,  for  that  a  gulf 
divided  them.  But,  across  this  hateful  void  she  called  to 
him  — "  O,  God  pity  thee,  my  Beltane !  " 


CHAPTER  XLV 

HOW    BLACK    KOGER    TAUGHT    BELTANE    GREAT    WISDOM 

A  DARKNESS,  full  of  a  great  quietude,  a  grateful  stillness, 
slumberous  and  restful;  yet,  little  by  little,  upon  this  all- 
pervading  silence,  a  sound  crept,  soft,  but  distressful  to 
one  who  fain  would  sleep ;  a  sound  that  grew,  a  sharp  noise 
and  querulous.  And  now,  in  the  blackness,  a  glimmer,  a 
furtive  gleam,  a  faint  glow  that  grew  brighter  and  yet 
more  bright,  hurtful  to  eyes  long  used  to  deeps  of  gloom ; 
but,  with  the  noise,  ever  this  light  grew  —  from  gleam  to 
glow  and  from  glow  to  dazzling  glare ;  and  so,  at  last,  Bel- 
tane opened  unwilling  eyes  —  eyes  that  blinked  and 
smarted  as  they  beheld  a  leaping  flame  where  a  fire  of  twigs 
crackled  merrily  against  a  purple  void  beyond;  beholding 
all  of  which.  Beltane  forthwith  shut  his  eyes  again.  But 
those  soft  deeps  wherein  he  had  found  so  sweet  oblivion, 
that  great  and  blessed  quietude  were  altogether  vanished 
and  beyond  him  to  regain;  wherefore  Beltane  felt  himself 
aggrieved  and  sorrowed  within  himself,  and  so,  presently 
oped  his  reluctant  eyes  and  fell  to  watching  the  play  of 
wanton  spark  and  flame.  None  the  less  he  knew  himself 
yet  aggrieved,  also  he  felt  a  sudden  loneliness,  wherefore 
(as  was  become  his  custom  of  late)  he  called  on  one  ever 
heedful  and  swift  to  answer  his  call. 

"  Fidelis  !  »  he  called,  "  Fidelis  !  "  Yet  came  there  no 
one,  and  Beltane  wondered  vaguely  why  his  voice  should 
sound  so  thin  and  far  away.  So,  troubling  not  to  move, 
he  called  again: 

"  Fidelis  —  art  sleeping,  my  Fidelis  ?  " 

Now  of  a  sudden,  one  stirred  amid  the  shadows  beyond 
the  fire,  mail  gleamed,  and  Black  Roger  bent  over  him. 

"  Master!  "  he  cried  joyfully,  his  eyes  very  bright,  "  O, 


Roger  Teaches  Beltane  Wisdom     349 

master,  art  awake  at  last  ?  —  dost  know  Roger  —  thy  man,. 
—  dost  know  thy  Roger,  lord?  " 

"  Aye,  forsooth,  I  know  thee,  Roger,"  says  Beltane,  yet 
aggrieved  and  querulous,  "  but  I  called  not  thee.  Send  me 
Fidells  —  where  tarries  Fidelis  ?  " 

"  Master,  I  know  not.  He  came  to  me  within  the  Hol- 
low six  nights  agone  and  gave  to  me  his  horse  and  bid  me 
seek  thee  here.  Thereafter  went  he  afoot  by  the  forest 
road,  and  I  rode  hither  and  found  thee,  according  to  his 
word." 

Then  would  Beltane  have  risen,  but  could  not,  and  stared 
at  Black  Roger's  pitiful  face  with  eyes  of  wonder. 

"  Why,  Roger!  »  quoth  he,  "  Why,  Roger—  ?  " 

"  Thou  hast  been  very  nigh  to  death,  master.  A  mad- 
man I  found  thee,  in  sooth  —  foaming,  master,  and  crying 
in  direful  voice  of  spells  and  magic.  Bewitched  wert  thou, 
master,  in  very  sooth  —  and  strove  and  fought  with  me^ 
and  wept  as  no  man  should  weep,  and  all  by  reason  of  a 
vile  enchantment  which  the  sweet  saints  forfend.  So  here 
hast  thou  lain  on  the  borders  of  death  and  here  have  I 
ministered  to  thee  as  Sir  Fidelis  did  teach  me ;  and,  but 
for  these  medicaments,  I  had  wept  upon  thy  grave,  for 
wert  direly  sick,  lord,  and  — " 

"  Nay,  here  is  no  matter  —  tell  me,  tell  me,  where  is 
Fidelis?" 

*'  Dear  master  I  know  not,  forsooth  1 " 

"  Went  he  by  the  forest  road?  " 

"  Aye,  master,  the  forest  road." 

"Afoot?" 

"Afoot,  lord." 

"  Said  he  aught  to  thee  of  —  of  me,  Roger?  " 

*'  Aye,  'twas  all  of  thee  and  thy  wound,  and  how  to  ease 
thy  pain  I  must  do  this,  forsooth,  and  that,  forsooth,  and 
to  break  the  fever  must  mix  and  give  thee  certain  cordials,, 
the  which  I  have  done." 

"  Said  he  aught  beside  —  aught  else,  Roger?  " 

"  Aye,  master,  he  bid  me  pray  for  thee,  the  which  I  have 
also  done,  though  I  had  rather  fight  for  thee;  nathless 


350  Beltane  the  Smith 

the  sweet  saints  have  answered  even  my  poor  prayers,  for 
behold,  thou  art  alive  and  shall  be  well  anon." 

Now  after  this,  Beltane  lay  with  eyes  fast  shut  and  spake 
not;  thus  he  lay  so  long,  that  Roger,  thinking  he  slept 
again,  would  have  moved  away,  but  Beltane's  feeble  hand 
stayed  him,  and  he  spake,  yet  with  eyes  still  closed. 

"  By  the  forest  road,  Roger!  " 

*'  Aye,  master." 

"  Alone,  Roger !  " 

"  Aye,  lord,  alone." 

"  And  —  afoot,  Roger !  " 

"  A3^e,  lord,  he  bade  me  take  his  horse  that  I  might  come 
to  thee  the  sooner." 

"  And  —  bid  thee  —  pray  for  me  —  for  me,  Roger !  " 

"  Verily,  master.     And  pray  I  did,  right  lustily." 

"  So  do  I  thank  thee,  Roger,"  said  Beltane,  speaking 
ever  with  closed  eyes.  "  Yet  I  would  that  God  had  let  me 
die,  Roger."  And  behold,  from  these  closed  eyes,  great 
tears,  slow-oozing  and  painful,  that  rolled  a-down  the  pallid 
cheek,  very  bright  in  the  fire-glow,  and  glistening  like  the 
fairest  gems. 

"  Master  —  O  master !  "  cried  Roger,  "  dost  grieve  thee 
for  SirFidelis?" 

"  Forsooth,  I  must,  Roger  —  he  was  a  peerless  friend, 
methinks !  " 

"  Aye  master,  and  —  noble  lady !  " 

"Roger  —  O  Roger,  how  learned  you  this?     Speak!" 

"  Lord,  thou  hast  had  visions  and  talked  much  within 
thy  sickness.  So  do  I  know  that  thou  dost  love  the 
Duchess  Helen  that  men  do  call  '  the  Beautiful.'  I  do 
know  that  on  thy  marriage  night  thou  wert  snatched  away 
to  shameful  prison.  I  do  know  that  she,  because  her  heart 
was  as  gi*eat  as  her  love,  did  follow  thee  in  knightly  guise, 
and  thou  did  most  ungently  drive  her  from  thee.  All  this, 
and  much  beside,  thou  didst  shout  and  whisper  in  thy 
fever." 

Quoth  Beltane,  plucking  at  Roger  with  feeble  hand: 

"  Roger  —  O  Roger,  since  this  thou  knowest  —  tell  me, 


Roger  Teaches  Beltane  Wisdom     351 

tell  me,  can  faith  and  treachery  lie  thus  within  one 
woman's  heart  —  and  of  all  women  —  her's  ?  " 

"  Master,  can  white  be  black  ?  Can  day  be  night  ?  Can 
heaven  be  hell  —  or  can  truth  lie?  So,  an  Sir  Fidelis  be 
faithful  (and  faithful  forsooth  is  he)  so  is  the  Duchess 
Helen  faithful  — " 

"  Nay,  an  she  be  true  —  O  Roger,  an  she  be  true  indeed, 
how  think  you  of  the  treachery,  of  — " 

"  I  think  here  was  witchcraft,  master,  spells,  see'st  thou, 
and  magic  black  and  damned.  As  thou  wert  true  to  her, 
so  was  she  true  to  thee,  as  true  as  —  aye,  as  true  as  I  am, 
and  true  am  I,  Saint  Cuthbert  knoweth  that,  who  hath 
heard  my  prayers  full  oft  of  late,  master." 

"  Now  God  bless  thee,  Roger  —  O,  God  bless  thee !  " 
So  crying,  of  a  sudden  Beltane  caught  Black  Roger's  sun- 
burned hand  and  kissed  it,  and  thereafter  turned  him  to 
the  shadows.  And,  lying  thus.  Beltane  wept,  very  bitterly 
yet  very  silent,  until,  like  a  grieving  child  he  had  wept 
himself  to  forgetfulness  and  sleep.  So  slept  he,  clasped 
within  Roger's  mailed  arm.  But  full  oft  Black  Roger 
lifted  his  bronzed  right  hand  —  the  hand  that  had  felt 
Beltane's  sudden  kiss  —  and  needs  must  he  view  it  with 
eyes  of  wonder,  as  if  it  had  been  indeed  some  holy  thing, 
what  time  he  kept  his  midnight  vigil  beside  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

HOW    BLACK    KOGER    PRAYED    IN    THE    DAWN  :    AND    HOW    HIS 
PRAYERS    WERE    ANSWERED 

"  Holy  Saint  Cuthbert,  art  a  very  sweet  and  potent  saint, 
and  therefore  hast  good  eyes  —  which  is  well ;  so  canst 
thou  see  him  for  thyself,  how  weak  he  is  and  languid, 
that  was  a  mighty  man  and  lusty.  Cherish  him,  I  pray 
thee !  A  goodly  j^outh  thou  dost  know  him,  thou  didst 
see  him  burn  a  gibbet,  moreover  I, have  told  thee  —  and  eke 
a  knight  of  high  degree.  Yet  doth  he  lie  here  direly  sick 
of  body.  Cherish  him,  I  pray  I  Moreover,  sick  is  he  of 
mind,  for  that  he  loveth  one,  a  lady,  methinks  good  and 
worthy  —  so  bring  them  together,  these  twain,  not  above, 
as  saints  in  heaven,  but  first  as  man  and  woman  that  shall 
beget  such  men  as  he,  such  noble  dames  as  she,  and  make 
the  world  a  better  place  therefor.  See  you  to  this  matter, 
good  Saint  Cuthbert,  and  also  the  matter  of  his  Dukedom. 
But  when  he  shall  be  Duke  indeed,  and  blest  with  her  that 
is  so  fair  a  maid  and  apt  to  motherhood  —  I  pray  thee, 
Saint  Cuthbert,  let  him  not  forget  me  whose  soul  he  saved 
long  since  within  the  green  in  the  matter  of  Beda  that  was 
a  Jester  —  I  pray  thee  let  him  have  regard  to  Black  Roger 
that  am  his  man  henceforth  to  the  end.  Amen.  Holy 
Saint  Cuthbert  grant  me  this." 

It  was  Black  Roger,  praying  in  the  dawn,  his  broad- 
sword set  upright  in  the  ling,  his  hands  devoutly  crossed 
and  his  black  head  stooped  full  low;  thus  he  saw  not  Bel- 
tane's eyes  upon  him  until  his  prayer  was  ended. 

Quoth  Beltane  then : 

"  Jlay  heaven  grant  thee  thy  prayer,  Roger  — 'twas  a 
good  prayer  and  I  the  better  for  it." 

"  Why,    look    now,    master,"    says    Roger,    somewhat 


How  Roger  Prayed  in  the'  Dawn     353 

abashed,  "  I  am  a  something  better  pray-cr  than  I  was, 
and  I  pray  in  good  Saxon  English ;  thus  do  I  call  on  Saint 
Cuthbert,  that  was  a  lusty  Saxon  ere  that  he  was  a  saint." 

"  But,  Roger,  what  need  to  supplicate  lest  I  forget 
thee?     Think  you  I  should  forget  my  faithful  Roger?  " 

"  Why,  lord,"  says  Roger,  busily  preparing  wherewith 
to  break  their  fast,  "  when  a  man  marrieth,  see  you,  and 
thereafter  proceedeth  forthwith  to  get  him  children,  as  the 
custom  is  — " 

"  Nay,  dost  talk  folly,  Roger !  "  quoth  Beltane,  his  pale 
cheek  flushing. 

"  Yet  folly  thou  dost  dream  of,  master,  and  she  also  — 
else  wherefore  love  — " 

"Nay,  Roger,  doth  Belsaye  lie  secure  yet?  What  of 
Walkyn  and  our  comrades?  Marched  they  to  Belsaye  as 
I  did  command?  " 

"  Why,  see  you  now,  master,  when  our  foes  came  not, 
and  you  came  not,  we  sent  word  to  Belsaye  that,  within  two 
days  we  would  march  thither,  according  to  thy  word,  and 
forthwith  Giles  sends  word  back  that  he  was  very  well  and 
wanted  no  long-legged  Walkyn  or  surly  Roger  to  share 
authority  with  him  yet  a  while,  and  bid  us  twirl  our  thumbs 
within  the  green  until  he  commanded  our  presence  —  with 
divers  other  ribald  japes  and  wanton  toys  —  whereon  Wal- 
kyn and  I  waxed  something  wroth.  Therefore,  when  ye 
came  not,  our  comrades  fell  to  factions  and  riot,  whereat 
I,  perforce,  smote  me  one  or  two  and  Walkyn  three  or  four 
and  so  brought  peace  among  them.  But  when  we  would 
have  tarried  yet  for  thee,  these  rogue-fellows  clamoured  for 
Walkyn  to  lead  them  into  the  wild,  back  to  their  ancient 
outlawry;  so  loud  they  clamoured  and  so  oft,  that,  in  the 
end,  Walkyn  smiled  —  a  strange  thing  in  him,  master  — 
but  he  agreed,  whereon  we  came  nigh  to  cutting  each 
other's  throats,  he  and  I.  Howbeit,  in  the  end  he  went,  he 
and  all  the  other  rogues.  So  bided  I  alone  in  the  Hollow, 
day  and  night,  waiting  thee,  master,  and  at  the  last,  cometh 
Sir  Fidelis  —  and  so  all's  said  and  behold  thy  breakfast  — 
a  coney,  see  you,  lord,  that  I  snared  but  yest're'en." 


354  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Our  company  gone  —  outlaws,  spending  their  lives  to 
no  purpose  —  here  is  evil  news,  Roger !  " 

"  Here  is  tender  meat,  master,  and  delicate !  " 

"  Back  to  outlawry  !     And  Walkyn  too  !  " 

*'  Aye  —  but  he  smiled,  master !  Walkyn,  methinks,  is 
not  a  jovial  soul,  lord,  and  when  he  smileth  it  behoveth 
others  to  frown  and  —  beware.  So  prithee  eat  hearty, 
lord,  for,  in  a  while  the  sun  will  stand  above  yon  whin-bush, 
and  then  'twill  be  the  eleventh  hour,  and  at  the  eleventh 
hour  must  I  wash  thy  hurt  and  be-plaster  it  with  this  good 
ointment." 

"What  then?" 

*'  Then  shalt  thou  sleep,  master,  and  I  to  the  woods  with 
my  bow  to  get  us  meat  —  sweet  juicy  venison,  an  the  saints 
be  kind ! " 

*'  And  wherefore  at  the  eleventh  hour?  " 

"  For  that  —  She  did  so  command  me,  master." 

"She?"  sighed  Beltane. 

"  Aye,  forsooth,  master.  She  that  the  good  Saint  Cuth- 
bert  shall  give  to  thy  close  embracements  one  day." 

"  Think  you  so  ?  "  spake  Beltane  beneath  his  breath, 
and  staring  across  the  sunny  glade  with  eyes  of  yearning, 
"  think  you  so  indeed,  Roger?  " 

"  Of  a  surety,  lord,"  nodded  Roger,  "  seeing  that  I  do 
plague  the  good  saint  on  the  matter  continually  —  for, 
master,  when  I  pray,  I  do  pray  right  lustily." 

So,  in  a  while,  the  meal  done  and  crock  and  pannikin 
washed  and  set  aside.  Beltane's  leg  is  bathed  and  dressed 
right  skilfully  with  hands,  for  all  their  strength  and  hard- 
ness, wondrous  light  and  gentle.  Thereafter,  stretched 
upon  his  bed  of  heather,  Beltane  watches  Black  Roger  gird 
on  belt  and  quiver,  and,  bow  in  hand,  stride  blithely  into 
the  green,  and,  ere  he  knows  it,  is  asleep.  And  in  his 
sleep,  beholds  one  who  bends  to  kiss  him,  white  hands  out- 
stretched and  all  heaven  in  her  eyes ;  and  with  her  voice 
thrilling  in  his  ears,  wakes,  to  find  the  sun  already  wester- 
ing and  Black  Roger  near  by,  who,  squatting  before  a 
rough   table  he  has   contrived   set   close  beside   the   fire 


How  Roger  Prayed  in  the  Dawn     355 

whereon  a  cooking  pot  seethes  and  bubbles,  is  busied  with 
certain  brewings,  infusings  and  mixings  in  pipkin  and 
pannikin,  and  all  with  brow  of  frowning  portent. 

Whereat  says  Beltane,  wondering: 

"  What  do  ye,  good  Roger?  " 

"  Master,  I  mix  thee  thy  decoction  as  She  did  instruct  — 
She  is  a  learned  youth,  master  —  Sir  Fidelis.  In  these 
dried  herbs  and  simples,  look  you,  lieth  thy  health  and 
strength  and  Pentavalon's  freedom  —  aye,  a  notable  youth 
in  faith,  thy  Duchess." 

Hereupon  Beltane,  remembering  his  dream,  must  needs 
close  his  eyes  that  he  may  dream  again,  and  is  upon  the 
portal  of  sleep  when  Roger's  hand  rouses  him. 

"What  would'st,  Roger?" 

"  Master  —  thy  draught." 

"  Take  it  hence  !  "  • 

"  Nay,  it  must  be  swallowed,  master." 

"  Then  swallow  it  thyself !  " 

"  Nay,  lord,  'tis  the  hour  for  thy  draught  appointed  by 
Sir  FideHs  and  She  must  be  obeyed  —  come,  master !  " 
Forthwith,  yet  remembering  his  dream,  Beltane  opens  un- 
willing eyes  and  more  unwilling  mouth  and  the  draught  is 
swallowed ;  whereupon  comes  languor  and  sleep,  and  there- 
with, more  dreams. 

Anon  'tis  even-fall,  and  the  stars,  one  by  one,  peep  forth 
of  the  darkening  heaven,- shadows  steal  and  lengthen  and 
lo!  'tis  night;  a  night  wherein  the  placid  moon,  climbing 
apace,  fills  the  silent  world  with  the  splendour  of  her  ad- 
vent. And  ever  and  always  Beltane  lies  deep-plunged  in 
slumber;  but  in  his  sleep  he  groans  full  oft  and  oft  doth 
call  upon  a  name  —  a  cry  faint-voiced  and  weak,  yet  full 
of  a  passionate  yearning ;  whereupon  cometh  sturdy  Roger 
to  behold  him  in  the  hght  of  the  fire,  to  stoop  and  soothe 
him  with  gentle  hand ;  thus  needs  must  he  mark  the  glitter 
of  a  tear  upon  that  pale  and  sunken  cheek,  wherefore  Black 
Roger's  own  eyes  must  needs  fall  a-smarting  and  he  to 
grieving  amain.  In  so  much  that  of  a  sudden  he  stealeth 
swiftly  from  the  cave,  and,  drawing  sword  setteth  it  up- 


35^ 


Beltane  the  Smith 


right  in  the  ling;  then  kneeling  with  bowed  head  and 
reverent  hands,  forthwith  fell  to  his  prayers,'  after  this 
wise :  — 

"  Sweet  Cuthbert  —  gentle  saint  —  behind  me  in  the 
shadows  lieth  my  master  —  a-weeping  in  his  slumber.  So 
needs  must  I  weep  also,  since  I  do  love  him  for  that  he  is  a 
man.  Good  Saint  Cuthbert,  I  have  wrought  for  him  my 
best  as  thou  hast  seen  —  tended  his  hurt  thrice  daily  and 
ministered  the  potion  as  I  was  commanded.  I  have  worked 
for  him  —  prayed  for  him  —  yet  doth  he  weep  great  tears 
within  his  sleep.  So  now  do  I  place  him  in  thy  care,  good 
saint,  for  thou  dost  know  me  but  poor  rogue  Roger,  a 
rough  man  and  all  unlearned,  yet,  even  so,  I  do  most  truly 
love  him  and,  loving  him,  do  fear  —  for  meseemeth  his 
hurt  is  deeper  than  hurt  of  body,  he  doth  pine  him  and 
grieve  for  lack  of  his  heart's  desire  —  a  3'oung  man,  sweet 
saint,  that  doth  yearn  for  a  maid  right  fair  and  noble, 
pars  amours,  good  saint,  as  is  the  custom.  But  alack,  she 
is  far  hence  and  he  lieth  here  sick  and  like  to  perish  and  I 
am  but  poor  Roger  —  a  very  sinful  man  that  knoweth 
not  what  to  do.  So  do  I  call  on  thee,  sweet  saint  — 
achieve  me  a  miracle  on  his  behalf,  bring  him  to  his  heart's 
desire  that  he  may  wax  hale  and  well  and  weep  no  more 
within  his  sleep.  And  this  do  I  ask  for  his  sake  and  his 
lady's  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  Pentavalon  Duchy  —  not 
forgetting  poor  Roger  that  doth  plague  thee  thus  for  love 
of  him.     Amen !  " 

Now  behold !  even  as  the  prayer  was  ended  came  a  faint 
stir  and  rustle  amid  the  leaves  hard  by,  and,  lifting  startled 
head,  Black  Roger  beheld  a  radiant  vision  standing  in  the 
pale  glory  of  the  moon,  whereat  he  knew  fear  and  a  great 
awe. 

"  O,  good  Saint  Cuthbert,  and  is  it  thou  indeed?"  he 
whispered,  "  Sweet  saint,  I  thought  not  to  win  thee  down 
from  heaven  thus,  though  forsooth  I  did  pray  right  lustily. 
But,  since  thou  art  come  — " 

"  Hush,  good  Roger !  "  spake  a  voice  soft  and  wondrous 
sweet  to  hear ;  and,  so  speaking,  the  shining  figure  raised 


How  Roger  Prayed  in  the  Dawn      357 

the  vizor  of  its  helm.  "  O  hush  thee,  Roger,  for  he  sleep- 
eth.  All  day,  unseen,  have  I  watched  over  him,  nor  can 
I  leave  him  until  his  strength  be  come  again.  And  sleep 
is  life  to  him,  so  wake  him  not.  Come  your  ways,  for  I 
would  speak  thee  many  things  —  follow !  " 

As  one  that  dreams,  Roger  stared  into  the  eyes  beneath 
the  vizor,  and  as  one  that  dreams  he  rose  up  from  his 
knees,  and,  sheathing  his  sword,  followed  whither  the 
gleaming  vision  led ;  yet  betimes  he  blinked  upon  the  moon, 
and  once  he  shook  his  head  and  spake  as  to  himself: 

"  Verily  —  aye,  verily,  a  lusty  pray-er,  I !  " 


CHAPTER  XL VII 

HOW    BELTAiJE    SWARE    AN    OATH 

Slowly  the  days  sped,  dewy  dawn  and  tender  eve,  days  of 
sun  and  shadow  and  gentle  rain ;  golden  days  wherein  Bel- 
tane lay  'twixt  sleep  and  wake,  and  nights  of  silver  wherein 
he  slept  full  deep  and  dreamed  wondrously  of  gentle  hands 
that  soothed  him  with  their  touch,  and  warm  soft  lips  on 
cheek  and  brow  that  filled  him  with  a  great  and  deep  con- 
tent. 

And  in  these  days,  who  so  cheery  as  Black  Roger,  full 
of  a  new-found  gaiety,  who  laughed  for  small  reason  and 
ofttimes  for  none  at  all  and  was  forever  humming 
snatches  of  strange  song  as  he  stooped  above  pipkin  and 
pannikin.  Much  given  was  he  also  to  frequent  comings 
and  goings  within  the  gi*een  to  no  apparent  end,  while 
Beltane,  within  the  little  cave,  lay  'twixt  sleep  and  waking ; 
moreover,  full  oft  as  they  ate  their  evening  meal  together, 
he  would  start,  and  falling  to  sudden  silence,  sit  as  one 
that  hearkens  to  distant  sounds.  Yet  withal  was  he  ever 
heedful  of  Beltane's  many  wants,  who,  as  health  came, 
grew  more  eager  to  be  gone,  but  finding  himself  too  weak, 
straightway  waxed  moody  and  rebellious,  whereat  smiling 
Roger  waxed  firm,  so  needs  must  frowning  Beltane  be 
bathed  and  bandaged  and  swallow  his  draught  —  because 
of  She  who  had  so  commanded. 

Now  it  befell  upon  a  certain  evening  as  Roger  bent  to 
peer  into  the  pot  that  seethed  and  bubbled  upon  the  fire 
and  to  snifF  its  appetising  savour,  he  presently  fell  a-sing- 
ing  to  himself  in  a  voice  gruff  yet  musical  withal;  where- 
upon Beltane,  turning  languid  head,  fell  to  watching  this 
new  Roger,  and  thereafter  spake  on  this  wise : 


How  Beltane  Sware  an  Oath    359 

Beltane.     "  What  do  ye  so  oft  within  the  green?  " 

Roger.     "  Hunt,  that  we  may  eat,  master." 

Beltane.  "  I  have  seen  thee  go  full  oft  of  late  and 
leave  thy  bow  behind,  Roger." 

Roger.  "Whereby  I  judge  that  though  thine  eyes  be 
shut  ye  do  not  always  slumber,  master,  and  methinks  our 
supper  is  done  — " 

Beltane.     "  Nay  —  what  do  ye  in  the  green  ?  " 

Roger.  "  Master,  thy  horse  Mars  hath  a  proud  spirit 
and  snorteth  against  his  bonds.  So,  lest  he  break  thy 
slumber,  have  I  made  him  a  shelter  of  wattles  in  the  green." 

Beltane.  "  Truly,  Roger,  thou  art  greatly  changed, 
methinks." 

Roger  (starting).     "  As  how,  master?  " 

Beltane,  "  I  have  heard  thee  called  Roger  the  grim, 
and  Roger  the  surly,  ere  now." 

Roger  (shaking  woeful  head).  "Ere  now,  lord,  I 
hanged  men,  conceiving  it  my  duty." 

Beltane.     "And  to-day  you  sing  —  and  wherefore ?"^ 

Roger.     "For  joy  in  life,  master." 

Beltane.  "  And  thou  dost  laugh,  surly  Roger  —  oft- 
times  for  little  reason,  meseemeth." 

Roger.  "  For  that  my  heart  is  renewed  within  me, 
master.  Happiness  is  my  bedfellow  and  companion  — 
here  is  good  reason  for  laughter,  methinks." 

Beltane.     "  And  wherefore  art  thou  happy,  Roger?  " 

Roger.  "  Item  first :  thou  dost  mend  apace,  lord. 
Item  second:  this  mess  of  venison  hath  a  savour  most 
delectable.  Item  third:  happir^ess  is  the  birthright  of 
every  man.  Moreover  I  have  learned  that  behind  the 
blackest  cloud  is  a  glory  of  sun,  and  beyond  sorrow,  joy. 
So  do  I  rejoice  that  all  is  like  to  be  well  with  thee." 

Beltane  (bitterly).  "Well  with  me,  say  you?  Is 
Pentavalon  free,  Roger?  Do  I  not  lie  here,  weak  and 
helpless  —  my  company  scattered?  O,  call  you  this  well, 
forsooth?  " 

Roger.  "  'Tis  true  thou  art  weak  as  yet,  master,  but 
thou  shalt  rise  again  stronger  than  aforetime  —  aye,  thou 


360 


Beltane  the  Smith 


shalt  arise  indeed,  and  all  Pentavalon  with  thee.  So  let 
thine  heart  rejoice  and  sing,  as  mine  doth." 

Beltane  (fiercely).  "  O  evil  day,  that  ere  I  gave  my 
heart  to  v/oman's  love,  so  do  I  lie  here  a  useless  thing  —  O 
day  accursed !  " 

Roger.  "  O  day  most  blessed,  since  woman's  love  hath 
lifted  thee  from  death  and  shall  be  thy  glory  and  Pentava- 
lon's  salvation,  master !  " 

Beltane  (eagerly).  "Roger  —  Roger,  speak  you  of 
the  Duchess  Helen?     What  mean  you,  man?  " 

Roger.  "  There  be  signs  and  portents,  master,  the  very 
air  is  full  o'  them.  Whiles  we  tarry  here,  others  be  up 
and  doing  — " 

Beltane.     "  Others,  Roger?  " 

Roger.     "Notably  Walkyn  o'  the  Axe,  master!" 

Beltane.     "  Ha !  and  what  of  Walkyn  ?  " 

Roger.  "  He  smiled,  master,  as  I  told  thee  ere  this,  and 
when  Walkyn  smileth  it  behoveth  others  to  be  wary.  So 
now  do  I  tell  thee  that  Walkjm  hath  taken  and  burned 
Duke  Ivo's  great  Castle  of  Brandonmere,  that  Winisfarne 
city  hath  risen  'gainst  the  Duke  and  all  the  border  villages 
likewise  —  aha !  master,  there  be  scythe-blades  and  good 
brown  bills  a-twinkle  all  along  the  marches  eager  to  smite 
for  freedom  and  Pentavalon  when  time  is  ripe !  " 

Beltane  (rising  upon  his  knees).  "Forsooth,  is  this 
so?     O  Roger,  is  this  so  in  very  truth?  " 

Roger.  "  'Tis  very  truth,  master.  Upon  my  sword 
I  swear  it !  " 

Beltane.  "  But  whence  had  ye  the  wondrous  news  — 
how  —  when  ?  " 

Roger.  "  Master,  'twas  three  nights  agone,  as  I 
wrestled  prodigiously  in  prayer  on  thy  behalf,  one  came  to 
me  and  spake  me  many  things  marvellous  good  to  hear. 
Moreover,  I  have  met  divers  folk  within  the  greenwood  and 
upon  the  forest-road  ^^onder,  and  with  all  do  I  hold  con- 
verse." 

Then  to  Roger's  amaze  Beltane  rose  up,  and  standing 
square  upon   his    feet   lifted  hands   and   eyes   to   heaven. 


How  Beltane  Sware  an  Oath    361 

"  Now  glory  be  to  the  living  God,"  quoth  he,  "  that  hath 
heard  the  prayers  of  such  as  I.  So  now  do  I  swear,  come 
life,  come  death,  to  walk  my  appointed  way  sword  in  hand, 
henceforth,  nor  will  I  turn  aside  for  man  or  woman,  heed- 
ing not  the  lure  of  friendship  or  of  love.  I  do  swear  never 
to  look  upon  a  woman  to  love  — " 

Roger  (  fearfully  ) .     "  Master  —  master !  " 

Beltane.  "  Nor  to  suffer  woman's  love  to  come  'twixt 
me  and  my  duty  — " 

Roger  (despairingly).  "O  master,  swear  it  not  — 
swear  it  not  — " 

Beltane.  "  Nor  shall  aught  let  or  stay  me  until  Pen- 
tavalon  win  to  freedom  or  my  poor  soul  return  whence  it 
came.     And  this  do  I  swear  to  the  ears  of  God !  " 

Now  turned  he  to  Roger,  bright-eyed  and  with  hands 
tight-clenched. 

"  Roger,"  said  he,  "  thou  art  witness  to  this  my  oath, 
an  I  do  fail  or  falter  henceforth,  then  in  that  same  hour 
may  sharp  death  be  mine.  So  now  bring  to  me  sword  and 
armour,  for  this  night  must  I  hence." 

Now  was  Roger  sore  troubled  and  fain  was  to  speak,  but 
beholding  his  master's  flashing  eye,  he  presently  did  as  he 
was  commanded.  So  Beltane  took  hold  upon  the  sword 
and  drew  it,  and  looked  glad-eyed  upon  its  broad  and 
shining  blade.  But  when  he  would  have  wielded  it,  behold  ! 
he  scarce  could  lift  it ;  with  teeth  fierce-clenched  he  strove 
against  his  weakness  until  his  breath  waxed  short  and  the 
sweat  ran  from  him,  but  ever  the  great  blade  grew  the 
heavier.  Then  he  groaned  to  find  himself  so  feeble,  and 
cried  aloud  an  exceeding  bitter  cry,  and  cast  the  sword 
from  him,  and,  staggering,  fell  into  Roger's  waiting  arms. 
Forthwith  Roger  bare  him  to  the  cave  and  laid  him  down 
upon  his  bed. 

"  Master,"  quoth  he,  "  O  master,  grieve  not  thyself,  thou 
shalt  be  hale  and  strong  anon,  but  the  time  is  not  yet. 
Comfort  ye,  comfort  ye,  my  lord  —  ere  long  thou  shalt  be 
strong,  aye,  and  mightier  e'en  than  aforetime.  So  grieve 
not  nor  repine,  my  master !  " 


362 


Beltane  the  Smith 


But  Beltane  lay  heeding  not,  nor  would  he  eat  despite 
all  Roger's  wheedling  arts ;  but  being  fevered  and  athirst, 
drank  deep  of  the  sleeping  draught,  and  thereafter,  falling 
to  his  black  humour,  turned  his  face  to  the  shadows,  and, 
lying  thus,  straightway  fell  to  weeping,  very  silently,  be- 
cause of  his  so  great  weakness,  until,  like  a  child,  he  had 
wept  himself  to  sleep. 

Slowly  the  moon  sank,  the  fire  burned  low  and  Roger 
snored  blissfully  hard  by,  but  Beltane,  blessed  within  his 
slumbers,  dreamed  again  of  one  who  stole,  light  of  foot,  to 
lie  beside  him  watchful  in  the  dark  and  with  warm,  soft 
arms  set  close  about  him  like  the  sheltering  arms  of  that 
mother  he  had  never  known. 

Thus  slept  Beltane,  like  a  weary  child  upon  a  mother's 
breast,  and  knew  great  peace  and  solace  and  a  deep  and 
utter  content. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

HOW  BELTANE  SET  OUT  FOR  HANGSTONE  WASTE 

Day  by  day  Beltane  waxed  In  health  and  strength,  and 
daily,  leaning  upon  Roger's  trusty  arm  he  walked  further 
afield.  And  day  by  day,  with  growing  strength,  so  grew 
his  doubt,  and  therewith,  by  times,  a  black  despond ;  for 
needs  must  he  think  ever  of  Helen  the  Beautiful,  and  fain 
was  he  to  tear  her  from  his  heart  yet  could  not ;  then  fain 
he  would  have  hated  her,  but  in  his  ears  her  cry  rang 
still  — "  God  pity  thee,  my  Beltane !  " —  wherefore  he  was 
wont  to  fall  to  sudden  gloom  and  melancholy. 

But  upon  a  certain  blithe  evening  Black  Roger  stood 
leaning  on  his  bow-stave  to  watch  where  Beltane  swam  the 
pool  with  mighty  strokes,  who,  laughing  for  very  joy  of  it, 
presently  sprang  ashore,  panting  with  his  exertions,  and 
fell  to  donning  his  garments. 

"  How  think  ye,  Roger,"  he  cried,  "  am  I  fit  to  adven- 
ture me  the  world  again.?  " 

"  Forsooth,  master,  art  well  of  thy  wound  and  fever,  and 
in  a  week  or  so  mayhap  thou  shalt  perchance  be  well 
enough  — " 

"  A  week,  Roger !  I  tell  thee,  man,  this  very  day  will  I 
hence !  " 

"  But,  master,"  says  Roger,  shaking  cautious  head, 
"  thy  world  is  a  world  of  battles,  and  for  battle  art  scarce 
yet  strong  enough  — " 

"  Say  ye  so,  Roger.?  Then  here  and  now  shalt  make 
trial  of  me.  Art  a  tall  and  lusty  fellow  —  come,  man,  let 
us  try  a  fall  together.  And  mark  this,  Roger,  an  thou 
canst  put  me  on  my  back  shalt  have  thy  will  in  the  matter, 
but,  an  I  down  thee,  then  hey !  for  horse  and  armour  and 
the  forest-road  this  very  night.     Come,  is't  agreed.?  " 


3^4 


Beltane  the  Smith 


Now  hereupon  the  wily  Roger,  noting  the  pallor  of  Bel- 
tane's sunken  cheek  and  hoAv  his  broad  breast  laboured  yet, 
and  moreover  feeling  himself  aglow  with  lusty  life  and 
vigour,  smiled  grimly,  nothing  doubting  the  issue.  Where- 
fore he  nodded  his  head. 

"  So  be  it,  master,"  said  he,  "  only  take  thy  wind  first." 
So  saying  he  set  aside  bow  and  quiver,  loosed  off  his  sword^ 
and  tightening  his  belt,  stepped  towards  Beltane,  his  broad 
back  stooped,  his  knotted  arms  advanced  and  fingers 
crooked  to  grapple.  Once  and  twice  he  circled,  seeking  a 
hold,  then  leapt  he  swift  and  low ;  arms  and  fingers  clenched 
and  locked,  and  Beltane  was  bent,  swayed,  and  borne  from 
his  feet ;  but  even  so,  with  a  cunning  twist  he  brake  Black 
Roger's  hold  and  staggered  free.     Quoth  he : 

"  Art  a  very  strong  man,  Roger,  stronger  than  me- 
thought.     Come  again !  " 

Once  more  they  circled  heedfully,  for  Beltane  had  grown 
more  wary :  thrice  he  sought  a  certain  hold  and  thrice  Black 
Roger  foiled  him,  ere,  sudden  and  grim,  he  leapt  and 
closed ;  and  breast  to  breast  they  strove  fiercely,  mighty 
arms  straining  and  tight-clenched,  writhing,  swaying,  reel- 
ing, in  fast-locked,  desperate  grapple.  Now  to  Roger's 
strength  and  quickness  Beltane  opposed  craft  and  cun- 
ning, but  wily  Roger  met  guile  with  guile  nor  was  to  be 
allured  to  slack  or  change  his  gripe.  Therefore  of  a  sud- 
den Beltane  put  forth  his  strength,  and  wrestled  mightily, 
seeking  to  break  or  weaken  Roger's  deadly  hold.  But 
Roger's  iron  arms  gripped  and  held  him  fast,  crushed  him, 
checked  him. 

"  Aha !  master,"  panted  Roger,  "  now  I  have  thee ! " 
and  therewith  heaved  right  lustily,  felt  Beltane  yield  and 
stagger,  slacked  his  grip  for  the  final  hold,  and,  in  that 
moment,  his  arms  were  burst  asunder,  he  was  whirled  up, 
kicking,  'twixt  earth  and  heaven,  laid  gently  upon  the 
sward  and,  sitting  up,  found  Beltane  lying  breathless  be- 
side him. 

"  'Twas  a  trick,  Roger !  "  he  panted,  "  I  beat  thee  —  but 
by  an  artifice  — " 


He  Sets  Out  for  Hangstone  Waste    365 

"  Yet  beaten  I  am,  master,"  quoth  Roger,  vastly  rueful. 

*'  And  art  mightier  than  I  thought  thee,  Roger." 

"  Master,  I  have  wrestled  oft  with  Gefroi  that  was  the 
Duke's  wrestler." 

"  Then  art  a  better  man  than  he,  meseemeth,"  quoth 
Beltane, 

"  Yet  thou  hast  beaten  me,  master !  " 

"  So  within  the  hour  we  will  begone  to  our  duty, 
Roger !  " 

"Whither,  lord?" 

"  First  to  Winisfarne,  and  thence  south  to  Belsaye,  with 
every  lusty  fellow  we  can  muster.     How  think  you.'*  " 

"  I  think  the  time  is  not  yet,  master." 

"Wherefore?" 

"  For  that  though  things  go  well  with  thee  and  thy 
cause,  yet  shall  they  go  better  anon." 

"  Nevertheless,  Roger,  within  the  hour  we  march.  So 
come,  first  let  us  eat,  for  I  do  famish." 

So,  when  they  had  caught  their  breath  again,  together 
they  arose  and,  coming  to  the  cave  beneath  the  steep,  they 
re-made  the  fire  and  set  the  pot  thereon ;  which  done,  Roger 
brought  forth  his  lord's  armour,  bright  and  newly  polished, 
and  in  a  while  Beltane  stood,  a  shining  figure  from  golden 
spur  to  gleaming  bascinet.  Thereafter,  Roger  armed  him 
likewise,  and  as  two  brothers-in-arms  they  sat  together 
and  ate  their  meal  with  mighty  appetite  and  gusto.  Now 
presently,  as  they  sat  thus,  Beltane  espied  a  thing  that  lay 
by  Roger's  knee,  and,  taking  it  up,  behold !  'twas  a  wallet 
of  fair-sewn  leather,  very  artfully  wrought,  and,  gazing 
upon  it  he  must  needs  fall  to  sudden  thought,  whereto 
he  sighed  full  deep  and  oft,  till,  finding  Roger  watch- 
ing him,  he  forthwith  checked  his  sighs  and  frowned  in- 
stead. 

"  Roger,"  quoth  he,  "  whence  had  ye  this  thing?  " 

"  My  lord,  from  —  Her,  the  sweet  knight  Sir  Fidelis, 
thy  lady  — " 

"  Why  wilt  thou  call  her  my  lady,  Roger?  " 

"  For  that  'tis  she  you  love  and  sigh  for,  she  that  doth 


366 


Beltane  the  Smith 


love  thee  and  shall  bear  thee  right  fair  and  lusty  children 
yet,  so  do  I  pray,  and  my  prayers  are  potent  these  days, 
for  the  good  Saint  Cuthbert  heedeth  me  regardfully.  So 
do  I  know  that  she  shall  yet  lie  within  thine  arms  and  yield 
thee  thine  heart's  desire,  pars  — " 

"  Art  a  fool,  Roger  —  aye,  a  very  fool,  and  talk  arrant 
folly  — " 

"  Yet,  master,  here  is  folly  shall  be  thy  j  oy  and  her  j  oy 
and  — " 

"Enough,  Roger!  Hast  forgot  the  oath  I  sware? 
And  the  ways  of  woman  be  crooked  ways.  And  woman's 
love  a  light  matter.     Talk  we  of  women  no  more." 

"  How ! "  quoth  Roger,  staring,  "  speak  we  no  more 
of  — Her?" 

"No  more!" 

"  Forsooth,  *  so  be  it,  master,  then  will  we  talk  of  Sir 
Fidelis  his  love — " 

"  Nor  of  Sir  Fidelis." 

"  Ha !  "  growled  Roger,  scratching  his  head,  "  must  we 
go  mumchance  then,  master?  " 

"  There  be  other  matters  for  talk." 

"  Aye  —  there's  witchcraft,  master.  For  mark  me, 
when  thou  wert  sick  and  nigh  to  God  and  the  holy  saints, 
the  evil  spell  could  not  come  nigh  thee,  and  thou  didst 
yearn  and  cry  continually  for  nought  but  —  Her.  But 
now  —  now  that  thou'rt  hale  and  strong  again  — " 

"  I  behold  things  with  mind  unclouded,  Roger." 

"  Save  by  enchantments  damned,  master.  Since  that 
evil  day  we  met  yon  accursed  witch  of  Hangstone,  hast 
never  been  thyself." 

"  Now  do  ye  mind  me  how  this  woman  did  speak  me  of 
marvels  and  wonders,  Roger  — " 

"  Artifice,  lord  —  devilish  toys  to  lure  thee  to  fouler 
bewitchments." 

"  Howbeit,  I  will  seek  her  out." 

"  Nay,  good  master,  here  shall  be  perils  dire  and  deadly. 
O  bethink  thee,  lest  she  change  thee  into  a  swine,  or  black 
dog,  aye,  or  even  a  small  shrew-mouse  —  I've  heard  of 


He  Sets  Out  for  Hangstone  Waste    367 

such  ere  now  —  or  blast  thee  with  fire,  or  loathly  disease, 
or—" 

"  None  the  less  will  I  go." 

"  Never  say  so,  master !  " 

"  At  the  full  o'  the  moon." 

"  Lord,  now  do  I  beseech  thee  — " 

"  And  the  moon  will  be  full  —  to-night,  Roger.  Go  you 
and  saddle  now  the  horse." 

Forthwith  went  Roger,  gloomy  and  nothing  speaking, 
what  time  Beltane  sat  there  staring  down  at  the  wallet  on 
his  knee,  bethinking  him  of  many  things,  and,  for  that  he 
was  alone,  sighing  deep  and  oft;  and  so,  very  suddenly, 
hung  the  wallet  to  his  girdle  and  thereafter  arose. 

In  a  while  cometh  gloomy  Roger  leading  the  destrier 
Mars,  whereon  gloomy  Beltane  swung  to  saddle,  and, 
looking  round  about  him  once  and  twice,  rode  slowly 
towards  where,  beyond  the  shade  of  trees,  the  forest  road 
ran  north  and  south. 

But,  as  for  Roger,  needs  must  he  pause  upon  the  edge  of 
the  clearing  to  look  back  at  the  little  cave  beneath  the 
steep,  whereby  the  small  water-brook  flowed  murmurously ; 
a  w^hile  he  stood  thus,  to  frown  and  shake  gloomy  head; 
then  lifted  he  his  hand  on  high,  much  as  he  had  bid  one 
sorrowful  farewell,  and,  turning  about,  trudged  away  after 
his  lord 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

HOW   BELTANE   FOUND    PEACE   AND   A  GREAT  SORROW 

It  had  been  an  evening  of  cloud,  but  now  the  sky  was  clear 
and  the  moon  shone  bright  and  round  as  they  reached  that 
desolate,  wind-swept  heath  that  went  by  the  name  of  Hang- 
stone  Waste,  a  solitary  place  at  all  times  but  more  espe- 
cially wild  and  awful  'neath  the  ghostly  moon;  wherefore 
Roger  went  wide-eyed  and  fearful,  and  kept  fast  hold  of 
Beltane's  stirrup. 

"  Ha  —  master,  master !  "  cried  he  'twixt  chattering 
teeth,  "  did'st  not  hear  it,  master?  " 

"  Nay,"  answered  Beltane,  checking  his  horse,  "  what 
was  it  ?  where  away  ?  " 

" 'Twas  a  cry,  master  —  beyond  the  marsh  yonder. 
'Tis  there  again !  " 

"  'Twas  an  owl,  Roger." 

"  'Twas  a  soul,  master,  a  poor  damned  soul  and  deso- 
late !  We  shall  see  dire  and  dreadful  sights  on  Hangstone 
Waste  this  night,  master  —  holy  Saint  Cuthbert!  What 
was  yon?  " 

"  Nought  but  a  bat,  Roger." 

"A  bat,  lord?  Never  think  so.  Here  was,  belike,  a 
noble  knight  or  a  lusty  fellow  be-devilled  into  a  bat.  Good 
master,  let  us  go  no  further  —  if  thou  hast  no  thought  for 
thyself,  have  a  little  heed  for  poor  Roger." 

"  Why  look  ye,  good  Roger,  canst  go  where  thou  wilt, 
but,  as  for  me,  I  ride  for  the  White  Morte-stone." 

"  Nay  then,  an  thou'rt  blasted  this  night,  master,  needs 
must  I  be  blasted  with  thee  —  yonder  lieth  the  Morte-stone, 
across  the  waste.  And  now,  may  Saint  Cuthbert  and 
Saint  Bede  have  us  in  their  blessed  care.  Amen !  " 

So  they  began  to   cross  the  rolling  desolation  of  the 


Peace  and  a  Great  Sorrow     369 

heath  and  presently  espied  a  great  boulder,  huge  and  soli- 
tary, gleaming  white  and  ghostly  'neath  the  moon. 

Being  come  very  nigh,  Beltane  checked  his  horse  and 
was  about  to  dismount,  when  Roger,  uttering  a  sudden 
gasping  cry,  cowered  to  his  knees,  for  in  the  air  about 
them  was  a  sound  very  sweet  to  hear  —  the  whisper  of  lute- 
strings softly  plucked  by  skilled  and  cunning  fingers,  and 
thereafter  a  man's  voice,  rich  and  melodious,  brake  forth 
into  tender  singing:  and  the  words  were  these:  — 

"  O  moon !     O  gentle  moon,  to-niglit 
Unveil  thy  softest,  tend'rest  light 
AVhere  feet  I  love,  so  small  and  white, 

Do  bear  my  love  to  me !  " 

"  Stand  up,  Roger,  here  is  nought  to  harm  us,  me- 
thinks,"  quoth  Beltane  softly,  "  stand  up,  and  hold  my 
bridle." 

"  But  see  now,  master,  there  be  devil-goblins  a  many 
that  do  pipe  like  very  angels." 

"  Nathless  here's  one  that  I  must  speak  with,"  said  Bel- 
tane, slipping  to  earth  and  looking  about  him  with  wonder- 
ing eyes,  for  the  voice  had  seemed  to  come  from  the  grass 
at  his  feet.  And  while  he  yet  sought  to  and  fro  in  frown- 
ing perplexity  the  melodious  voice  brake  forth  anew: 

"  O  little  feet,  more  white  than  snow. 
If  through  the  thorny  brake  ye  go, 
My  loving  heart  I'll  set  below 

To  take  the  hurt  for  thee." 

NoAV  as  the  voice  sank  and  the  lute-strings  quivered  to 
silence.  Beltane,  coming  beliind  the  great  rock,  beheld  a 
glow,  very  faint  and  feeble,  that  shone  through  thick-clus- 
tering leaves ;  and,  putting  aside  a  whin-bush  that  grew 
against  the  rock,  perceived  a  low  and  narrow  alley  or 
passage-way  leading  downwards  into  the  earth,  lighted  by 
a  soft,  mellow  beam  that  brightened  as  he  advanced  and 
presently  showed  him  a  fair-sized  chamber  cunningly  hol- 
lowed within  the  rock  and  adorned  with  rich  furs  and  skins. 


370  Beltane  the  Smith 

And  behold  one  who  reclined  upon  a  couch  of  skins,  a 
slender,  youthful  figure  with  one  foot  wondrously  be- 
wrapped  and  swathed,  who,  beholding  Beltane's  gleaming 
mail,  sprang  up  very  nimbly  and  fronted  him  with  naked 
sword  advanced.  .y^" 

"  Nay,  hast  forgot  thy  friend.  Sir  Jocelyn?  " 

Incontinent  the  sword  was  tossed  aside,  and  with  a  joy- 
ous cry  Sir  Jocelyn  sprang  and  caught  him  in  close  em- 
brace. 

"  Now  by  sweet  Venus  her  downy  dove  — 'tis  Beltane !  " 
he  cried.  "  Now  welcome  and  thrice  welcome,  my  lordly 
smith,  thou  mighty  son  of  noble  father.  Ah,  lord  Duke, 
I  loved  thee  that  day  thou  didst  outmatch  Gefroi  the 
wrestler  in  the  green.  Since  then  much  have  I  learned  of 
thee  and  thy  valiant  doings,  more  especially  of  Barham 
Broom  —  how  thou  didst  slay  the  vile  Sir  Gilles  'neath 
the  eyes  of  Ivo  and  all  his  powers  and  thereby  didst  snatch 
from  shame  and  cruel  death  one  that  is  become  the  very 
heart  of  me,  so  needs  must  I  love  and  honour  and  cherish 
thee  so  long  as  I  be  Jocelyn  and  thou  thy  noble  self. 
Come,  sit  ye  —  sit  ye  here,  for  fain  am  I  to  question 
thee  — " 

"  But,"  said  Beltane,  wrinkling  puzzled  brow,  "  how 
came  you  hither  —  and  art  wounded,  Jocelyn?  " 

"  Aye,  my  lord,  to  desperation  —  O  direly.  Beltane.  I 
do  languish  night  and  day,  sleep  doth  bring  me  no  surcease 
and  music,  alack,  abatement  none.  Food  —  base  food  re- 
pelleth  me  and  wine  no  savour  hath.  Verily,  verily, 
wounded  deep  am  I." 

"  Forsooth,"  said  Beltane,  "  thy  foot  doth  wear  band- 
ages a  many,  but  — " 

"Bandages.?"  cried  Jocelyn,  staring.  "Foot?  Nay, 
nay,  my  torment  is  not  here,"  and  he  flourished  his  be- 
swathed  foot  in  an  airy,  dancing  step.  "  Indeed,  Beltane, 
herein  do  I  confess  me  some  small  artifice,  yet,  mark  me, 
to  a  sweet  and  worthy  end.  For  my  hurt  lieth  here, —  sore 
smit  am  I  within  tliis  heart  o'  mine." 

"  Thy  heart  again,  Jocelyn?  " 


Peace  and  a  Great  Sorrow     371 

"Again?"  said  the  young  knight,  wrinkling  slender 
brows. 

"  Aye,  thou  did'st  sing  thy  heart's  woe  to  me  not  so 
long  since  —  in  an  hundi'ed  and  seventy  and  eight  cantos, 
and  I  mind  thy  motto :  '  Ardeo  '." 

"  Nay,  Beltane,  in  faith  —  indeed,  these  were  folly  and 
3^outhful  folly,  the  tide  hath  ebbed  full  oft  since  then  and 
I,  being  older,  am  wiser.  Love  hath  found  me  put  at 
last  —  man's  love.  List  now,  I  pray  thee  and  mark  me, 
friend.  Wounded  was  I  at  the  ford  you  wot  of  b€side  the 
mill,  and,  thereafter,  lost  within  the  forest,  a  woeful  wight ! 
Whereon  my  charger,  curst  beast,  did  run  off  and  leave 
me.  So  was  I  in  unholy  plight,  when,  whereas  I  lay  sigh- 
ful  and  distressed,  there  dawned  upon  my  sight  one  beyond 
all  beauty  beautiful.  Y-clad  in  ragged  garb  was  she,  yet 
by  her  loveliness  her  very  rags  were  glorified.  To  me,  shy 
as  startled  doe,  came  she  and,  with  saintly  pity  sweet,  did 
tend  my  hurt,  which  done,  with  much  ado  she  did  hither 
bring  me.  Each  day,  at  morn  and  eve,  came  she  with  cates 
rare  and  delicate,  and  her  gentle  hands  did  woo  my  wound 
to  health,  the  which  indeed  so  swift  grew  well  that  I  did 
feign  divers  pains  betimes  lest  she  should  vanish  from  me 
quite  —  so  grew  my  love.  At  the  first  loved  I  her  some- 
thing basely,  for  the  beauty  of  her  body  fair,  whereat  she 
grieved  and  sorrowed  and  fled  from  my  regard,  and  for 
an  eternity  of  days  came  not  again  until  yestere'en.  And, 
Beltane,  though  base  her  birth,  though  friendless,  poor 
and  lonely,  yet  did  my  heart  know  her  far  'bove  my  base 
self  for  worthiness.  So  did  I,  yestere'en,  upon  my 
knightly  word,  pledge  her  my  troth,  so  shall  she  be  hence- 
forth my  lady  of  Alain  and  chatelaine  of  divers  goodly 
castles,  manors,  and  demesnes.  To-night  she  cometh  to 
me  in  her  rags,  and  to-night  we  set  forth,  she  and  I,  to 
Mortain,  hand  in  hand  —  nor  shall  my  lips  touch  hers. 
Beltane,  until  Holy  Church  hath  made  us  one.  How  think 
ye  of  my  doing,  friend?  " 

"  I  do  think  thee  true  and  worthy  knight,  Sir  Jocelyn, 
and  moreover  — " 


372  Beltane  the  Smith 

But  of  a  sudden,  Roger's  voice  reached  them  from  with- 
out, hoarse  with  terror. 

"  Master  —  O  master,  beware !     'Tis  the  witch,  lord  — 

0  beware !  " 

And  with  the  cry,  lo !  a  hurry  of  feet  running  swift  and 
light,  a  rustle  of  flying  garments,  and  there,  flushed  and 
panting,  stood  the  witch  —  the  witch  Mellent  that  was  the 
lady  Winfrida.  Now,  beholding  Beltane,  her  eyes  grew 
wide  with  swift  and  sudden  fear  —  she  quailed,  and  sank 
to  her  knees  before  him ;  and  when  Sir  Jocelyn,  smitten  to 
mute  wonder,  would  have  raised  her,  she  brake  forth  into 
bitter  Aveeping  and  crouched  away. 

"  Nay,  touch  me  not  my  lord,  lest  thou  repent  here- 
after —  for  now  do  I  see  that  happiness  is  not  for  me  — 
now  must  I  say  such  words  as  shall  slay  thy  love  for  me,  so 
touch  me  not," 

"  Ha,  never  say  so !  "  cried  Sir  Jocelyn,  "  not  touch 
thee?  art  not  mine  own  beloved  Mellent .?  " 

"  Nay,  I  am  the  lady  Winfrida  — " 

"  Thou  —  Winfrida  the  rich  and  proud  —  in  these 
rags?     Thou,  Winfrida  the  Fair?  —  thy  raven  hair — " 

"  O,  my  hair,  my  lord?  'twas  gold,  'tis  black  and  shall 
be  gold  again,  but  I  am  that  same  Winfrida." 

"  But  —  but  I  have  seen  Winfrida  betimes  in  Mortain 
ere  now." 

"  Nay,  then,  didst  but  look  at  her,  my  lord,  for  thine 
eyes  saw  only  the  noble  Helen's  beauty.     Alas!  that  ever 

1  was  born,  for  that  I  am  that  Winfrida  who,  for  am- 
bition's sake  and  wicked  pride,  did  a  most  vile  thing  —  O 
my  lord  Beltane,  as  thou  art  strong,  be  pitiful  —  as  thou 
art  deeply  wronged,  be  greatly  merciful." 

"  How  —  how  —  mean  you?  "  said  Beltane,  slow-speak- 
ing and  breathing  deep. 

"Lord — 'twas  I  —  O,  how  may  I  tell  it?  My  lord 
Beltane,  upon  thy  wedding  night  did  I,  with  traitorous 
hand,  infuse  a  potent  drug  within  the  loving-cup,  whereby 
our  lady  Duchess  fell  into  a  swoon  nigh  unto  death. 
And  —  while  she  lay  thus,  I  took  from  her  the  marriage- 


Peace  and  a  Great  Sorrow     373 

robe  —  the  gown  of  blue  and  silver.  Thereafter  came  I, 
with  my  henchman  Ulf  the  Strong  and  —  found  thee 
sleeping  in  the  chapel.  So  Ulf  —  at  my  command  — 
smote  thee  and  —  bound  thee  fast,  and,  ere  the  dawn,  I 
brought  thee  —  to  Garthlaxton  —  O  my  lord !  " 

"  Thou  —  ?     It  was  —  thou  ?  " 

"  I  do  confess  it,  my  lord  Beltane  —  traitor  to  thee,  and 
base  traitor  to  her — " 

"  Why,  verily  —  here  was  treachery  — "  quoth  Beltane 
speaking  slow  and  soft,  "  truly  here  —  methinks  —  was 
treachery  —  and  wherefore?  " 

"  O  my  lord,  must  I  —  tell  this?  " 

"  I  do  ask  thee." 

Then  did  Winfrida  shrink  within  herself,  and  crouched 
yet  further  from  Sir  Jocelyn  as  though  his  eyes  had  hurt 
her. 

"Lord,"  she  whispered,  "I  was  —  jealous!  Duke  Ivo 
wooed  me  long  ere  he  loved  the  Duchess  Helen,  so  was  I 
jealous.  Yet  was  I  proud  also,  for  I  would  sujffer  not  his 
love  until  he  had  made  me  wife.  And,  upon  a  day,  he, 
laughing,  bade  me  bring  him  captive  this  mighty  man  that 
defied  his  power  —  that  burned  gibbets  and  wrought  such 
deeds  as  no  other  man  dared,  swearing  that,  an  I  did  so, 
he  would  wed  with  me  forthright.  And  I  was  young,  and 
mad  with  jealous}^  and  —  in  those  days  —  I  knew  love  not 
at  all.  But  O,  upon  a  day,  I  found  a  new  world  wherein 
Love  came  to  me  —  a  love  so  deep  and  high,  so  pure  and 
noble,  that  fain  would  I  have  died  amid  the  flame  than 
thus  speak  forth  my  shame,  slaying  this  wondrous  love  by 
my  unworthiness.  Yet  have  I  told  my  shame,  and  love  is 
dead,  methinks,  since  I  am  known  for  false  friend  and 
traitor  vile  —  a  thing  for  scorn  henceforth,  that  no 
honourable  love  may  cleave  to.  So  is  love  dead,  and  fain 
would  I  die  also !  " 

Now,  of  a  sudden,  while  yet  Beltane  frowned  down  upon 
her,  came  Sir  Jocelyn,  and  kneeling  beside  Winfrida,  spake 
with  bent  head : 

"  Messire  Beltane,  thou  seest  before  thee  two  that  are 


374  Beltane  the  Smith 

one,  henceforth.  So  do  I  beseech  thee,  forgive  us  our 
trespass  against  thee,  an  it  may  be  so.  But,  if  thy  wrongs 
are  beyond  forgiveness,  then  will  we  die  together." 

"  O  Jocelyn !  "  cried  Winf rida  breathlessly,  "  O  dear 
my  lord  —  surely  never  man  loved  like  thee !  Lord  Bel- 
tane, forgive  —  for  this  noble  knight's  sake  —  forgive  the 
sinful  Winfrida !  " 

"Forgive?"  said  Beltane,  hoarsely,  "forgive?  —  nay, 
rather  would  I  humbly  thank  thee  on  my  knees,  for  thou 
hast  given  back  the  noblest  part  of  me.  She  that  was 
lost  is  found  again,  the  dead  doth  live.  Helen  is  her  noble 
self,  and  only  I  am  vile  that  could  have  doubted  her.  The 
happiest  man,  the  proudest,  and  the  most  woeful,  I,  in  all 
the  world,  methinks.  O  kneel  not  to  me  —  and  pray 
you  —  speak  on  this  matter  no  more.  Rise,  rise  up  and 
get  ye  to  your  joy.  Lady,  hast  won  a  true  and  leal 
knight,  and  thou.  Sir  Jocelyn,  a  noble  lady,  who  hath 
spoken  truth  at  hazard  of  losing  her  love.  And  I  do  tell 
ye,  love  is  a  very  blessed  thing,  greater  than  power,  or 
honour,  or  riches,  or  aught  in  the  world  but  love.  Aye, 
surely  Love  is  the  greatest  thing  of  all !  "  So  saying, 
Beltane  turned  very  suddenly,  and  strode  out,  where,  be- 
side the  great  horse  Mars,  stood  Roger,  very  pale  in  the 
moonlight,  and  starting  and  staring  at  every  rustling  leaf 
and  patch  of  shadow. 

"  Roger,"  said  he,  "  thou  art  afraid  of  bats  and  owls, 
yet,  forsooth,  art  a  wiser  man  than  I.  Bring  hither  the 
horse." 

In  a  while  cometh  Sir  Jocelyn  and  the  lady  Winfrida, 
hand  in  hand,  aglow  with  happiness,  yet  with  eyes  moistly 
bright  under  the  moon. 

"  Good  comrade-in-arms,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  Mortain 
lieth  far  hence ;  now  here  is  a  goodly  horse  — " 

"  O !  "  cried  Winfrida  shrinking,  "  surely  'tis  the  horse 
that  bore  Sir  Gilles  of  Brandonmere  in  the  lists  at  Barham 
Broom  — " 

"  So  now,  my  lady  Winfrida,  shall  it  bear  thee  and  thy 
love  to  Mortain  and  happiness  —  O  loved  Mortain !     So 


Peace  and  a  Great  Sorrow     375 

mount,  Jocelyn,  mount!  Haste  to  thy  happiness,  man, 
and  in  thy  joy,  forget  not  Pentavalon,  for  her  need  is 
great.  And  thou  hast  goodly  men-at-arms !  How  think 
ye,  messire?  " 

"  Beltane,"  cried  Sir  Jocelyn  gleefully,  "  Beltane,  O 
dear  my  friend,  doubt  me  not  —  I  do  tell  thee  we  shall 
ride  together  yet,  when  the  battle  joins!  "  So  saying,  he 
sprang  to  saddle.  Now  turned  Beltane  to  aid  the  lady 
Winfrida  to  Sir  Jocelyn's  hold;  but,  even  then,  she  fell 
upon  her  knees,  and  catching  his  hand  to  her  bosom, 
kissed  it. 

"  Lord  Beltane,"  said  she,  looking  up  'neath  glistening 
lashes  — "  as  thou  hast  dealt  with  me,  so  may  heaven  deal 
with  thee.  May  thy  sore  heart  find  solace  until  love  find 
thee  —  and  —  dear  mj^  lord,  I  pray  you  where  is  —  he  — • 
the  young  knight  that  rode  with  thee  —  for  where  he  is, 
there  also  is  —  Helen  — " 

"  And  thou  dost  know,  too.'^  " 

"  I  knew  her  that  day  in  the  forest  when  I  fled  away, 
for  though  I  would  have  confessed  my  sin  to  thee,  yet  her 
cold  scorn  I  could  not  have  borne.  Where  is  she  now,  my 
lord.?" 

"  Safe  within  Mortain,  I  pray." 

"  Then  come  you  to  Mortain.  Come  with  us  this 
night  —  ah !  come  you  to  Mortain  and  —  Helen !  " 

Now  hereupon  Beltane  turned  to  look  with  yearning  eyes 
towards  the  gloom  of  the  forest  beyond  which  lay  the  soft 
and  peaceful  valleys  of  fair  Mortain,  and  she  that  called 
herself  Fidelis,  who  had  indeed  been  so  faithful  in  all 
things,  so  patient  and  Enduring;  and,  as  his  eyes  yearned, 
so  yearned  the  great  passionate  soul  of  him,  insomuch 
that  he  must  needs  fall  a-trembling,  whereat  Roger  the 
watchful  drew  a  soft  pace  nearer.  So  stood  Beltane 
awhile,  hands  clenched,  head  bent,  staring  ever  northwards, 
his  blood  aglow  with  eager  love,  his  heart  a-throb  with 
passionate  remorse. 

"  Come,  my  lord,"  breathed  Winfrida,  "  O  come  —  in 
Mortain  is  rest  and  solace  —  and  love  I  " 


37^ 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"Rest?"  said  Beltane  softly,  "solace  and  love  —  O 
sweet  thought!  Yet  I  may  not  go  hence,  for  here  is  sor- 
row and  shame  and  suffering  —  sword  and  fire  and  battle. 
So  must  I  bide  here  in  Pentavalon  —  with  my  duty."  So 
saying,  he  lifted  Winfrida  to  Sir  Jocelyn's  ready  clasp  and 
thereafter  spake  with  head  downbent :  "  An  thou  chance  to 
see  —  her  — •  within  Mortain,  I  pray  you  say  that  the 
blind  doth  see  at  last  and  is  gone  to  his  duty,  that,  per- 
adventure,  he  may  be,  some  day,  more  worthy  her  great 
love.  And  now  fare  ye  well,  good  friends,  God  have  ye 
ever  in  His  tender  care.     Come,  Roger !  " 

Then  Beltane  turned  him  suddenly  away,  and  with  broad 
back  set  towards  Mortain,  strode  off  across  the  desolate 
moor. 


CHAPTER  L 

TELLETH  HOW  BELTANE  WENT  FORTH  TO  HIS  I>UTY 

Silent  went  Beltane,  his  lips  firm-set,  his  wistful  eyes 
staring  ever  before  him,  nor  paused  he  once,  nor  once 
glanced  back  towards  that  happy  Mortain  which  held  for 
him  all  that  was  fair  and  sweet  and  noble;  that  pure  and 
faithful  heart  wherein  no  evil  could  exist ;  that  radiant 
body  in  whose  soft,  white  loveliness  lay  all  the  joy,  all  the 
happiness  the  wide  world  might  ever  yield  him. 

And  now,  because  of  her  proved  innocence,  he  was  up- 
lifted by  a  great  and  mighty  joy,  and  therewith  his  step 
was  light  and  swift ;  anon,  because  of  his  base  doubt  of  her, 
he  writhed  'neath  the  sharp-gnawing  tooth  of  bitter  re- 
morse, and  therewith  his  step  grew  heavy  and  slow.  Now 
was  he  proud  of  her  so  great  love  for  him,  and  again,  he 
knew  a  profound  and  deep  humility  because  of  his  so  great 
unworthiness.  Thus  went  he,  nothing  speaking,  now  with 
flying  feet,  now  with  steps  that  dragged,  insomuch  that 
watchful  Roger  fell  to  solemn  wonderment,  to  a  furtive  un- 
ease, and  so,  at  last,  to  speech. 

"  Lord,"  quoth  he  in  a  voice  of  awe,  but  Beltane  strode 
on  unheeding,  whereat  Roger's  eyes  grew  round  and  his 
ruddy  cheek  pale,  and  clenching  his  fist,  he  raised  aloft  his 
first  and  little  fingers  so  that  they  formed  two  horns,  and 
with  the  bonis  he  touched  Beltane  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 
"  Master !  "  said  he. 

Then  Beltane  started,  and  turning,  looked  at  Roger, 
whereupon  Roger  immediately  crossed  his  fingers. 

"  Ha,  Roger,  I  was  deep  in  my  thoughts,  what  would 

ye?" 

"  Master,  hast  ever  a  pricking  in  the  hairs  of  thy 
head.?  " 


378 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Not  I." 

"  Dost  ever  feel  a  tingling  in  the  soles  of  thy  feet?  " 

"  Not  so,  in  truth." 

"  Why  then  a  shivering,  quaking  o'  the  back-bone  ?  " 

"  Roger,  man,  what  troubles  thee  now  ?  " 

"  I  do  fear  thou'rt  be-devilled  and  moon-struck,  mas- 
ter ! " 

"Why  so?" 

"  Betimes  thou  dost  smile  upon  the  moon  —  for  no  rea- 
son ;  scowl  upon  the  earth  —  for  no  reason ;  work  with  thy 
lips  yet  speak  no  word,  and  therewith  do  bite  thy  fingers- 
ends,  clench  thy  fists  —  and  all  for  no  reason.  Moreover^ 
thou'rt  quick  and  slow  in  thy  gait,  sighing  gustily  off  and 
on  —  so  it  is  I  do  sweat  for  thee." 

"  And  wherefore?  " 

"  Master,"  quoth  Roger,  glancing  furtively  about,  "  in 
my  youth  I  did  see  a  goodly  man  be-devilled  by  horrid 
spells  by  an  ancient  hag  that  was  a  noted  witch,  and  he 
acted  thus  —  a  poor  wight  that  was  thereafter  damnably 
be-devilled  into  a  small,  black  rabbit,  see  you  — " 

"  Saw  you  all  this  indeed,  Roger?  " 

"  All  but  the  be-devilling,  master,  for  being  young  and 
sore  frighted  I  ran  away  and  hid  myself.  But  afterwards 
saw  I  the  old  woman  with  the  black  rabbit  in  a  cage  — 
wherefore  the  vile  hag  was  stoned  to  death,  and  the 
black  rabbit,  that  was  her  familiar,  also  —  and  very 
properly.  And,  lord,  because  I  do  love  thee,  rather  would 
I  see  thee  dead  than  a  rabbit  or  a  toad  or  lewd  cur  — 
wherefore  now  I  pray  thee  cross  thy  fingers  and  repeat 
after  me  — " 

"  Nay,  my  faithful  Roger,  never  fear,  here  is  no  witch- 
craft. 'Tis  but  that  within  the  hour  the  blind  doth  see, 
the  fool  hath  got  him  some  little  wisdom." 

"  Master,  how  mean  you?  " 

"  This  night,  Roger,  I  have  learned  this  great  truth : 
that  white  can  never  be  black,  nor  day  night,  nor  truth 
lie  —  and  here  is  great  matter  for  thought,  wherefore  as  I 
walk,  I  think." 


Beltane  Goes  Forth  to  His  Duty     379 

Now  hereupon  Black  Roger  halted  and  looked  upon 
Beltane  glad-eyed. 

"  Lord,"  he  cried,  "  is  it  that  ye  do  know  the  very  truth 
at  last  —  of  Sir  Fidelis  —  that  glorious  lady,  thy  Duchess 
Helen?" 

"  Aye,  the  very  truth  at  last,  Roger." 

"  Ha !  — 'tis  so  I  petitioned  the  good  Saint  Cuthbert 
this  very  night !  " 

"  And  lo !  he  hath  answered  thy  prayer,  Roger." 

"  Verily  he  regardeth  poor  Roger  these  days,  master, 
e'en  though  ray  belt  doth  yet  bear  many  accursed  notches." 

"  They  shall  be  fewer  anon,  Roger ;  there  be  many  poor 
souls  for  thee  to  save  in  woeful  Pentavalon." 

Hereafter  went  they  a  while  in  silence,  until  of  a  sudden 
Roger  halted  and  clapped  hand  to  thigh. 

"  Master,  we  go  the  wrong  way,  methinks." 

"  Not  so,  we  be  close  upon  the  forest  road,  Roger." 

"  But  thou  dost  know  her  faithful,  master,  pure  and 
holy  in  mind  and  body  —  at  sure  of  this  at  last !  " 

"  Aye,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  at  last !  " 

"  Why  then,  lord,  let  us  incontinent  seek  her  out." 

"  She  is  in  for  Mortain,  Roger,  moreover  — " 

"  Nay,  master,  forsooth  she  is  —  hum !  aye,  she's  in 
Mortain,  mayhap,  but  'tis  none  so  far  to  Mortain  for  such 
legs  as  thine  and  mine.  And  belike  we  may  —  chance  upon 
her  by  the  way,  or  —  or  she  with  us,  or  both !  " 

"  Even  so,  needs  must  I  to  my  dut3^" 

"  Thy  duty !  —  aye,  master  —  thy  duty  is  to  woo  her, 
wed  her,  take  her  to  thy  arms  and  — " 

"  I  tell  thee,  Roger,  ne'er  will  I  speak  word  of  love  to 
her  until  I  have  proved  myself  in  some  sense  fit  and  worthy. 
First  will  I  free  Pentavalon  as  I  did  swear  — " 

"  Nay,  master,  wed  first  thy  Duchess,  so  shall  she  aid 
thee  in  thy  vows,  and  thereafter  — " 

"  Enough !  "  cried  Beltane,  "  think  ye  'tis  so  easy  to 
thus  gainsay  the  love  that  burns  me?  But  shame  were  it 
that  I,  beggared  in  fortune,  my  friends  few,  should  wed 
her  in  my  dire  need,  dragging  thereby  peaceful  Mortain  to 


38o 


Beltane  the  Smith 


mine  aid  and  the  bloody  arbitrament  of  battle.  More- 
over, hast  forgot  the  oath  I  sware  —  that  nought  hence- 
forth should  let  or  stay  me?  " 

"  Master,"  sighed  Roger,  "  there  be  times,  methinks, 
thou  dost  swear  over-many  oaths.  Art  man  and  woman 
full  of  youth  and  love,  wherefore  not  marry?  Wherefore 
heed  a  vow  here  or  there?  Needs  must  I  wrestle  with  the 
good  Saint  Cuthbert  in  the  matter." 

But  here  Beltane  fell  again  to  meditation  and  Roger 
likewise.  So  came  they  presently  to  the  forest-road,  and 
turning  north  towards  Winisfarne  they  strode  on,  side  by 
side,  in  silence  profound  and  deep.  And  of  a  sudden  upon 
this  silence,  rose  a  voice  high-pitched  and  quavering: 

"  O  ye  that  have  eyes,  have  pity  —  show  mercy  on  one 
that  is  maimed  and  helpless,  and  creepeth  ever  in  the  dark." 


CHAPTER  LI 

HOW  BLACK  ROGEE  WON  TO  FULLER  MANHOOD 

Forthwith  Beltane  paused,  and  presently  beheld  one  that 
sat  by  the  wayside  —  a  man  who  crouched  'neath  a  dusty 
cloak  and  kept  his  white  head  down-bent  and  who  now 
reached  out  a  hand  to  grope  and  grope  for  the  staff  that 
lay  near;  wherefore  Beltane  took  hold  upon  this  hand  and 
raised  the  white-haired  traveller,  and  thereafter  put  th? 
cudgel  in  his  grasp. 

"  Messire,"  said  the  blind  man,  "  though  I  have  no  eyes 
I  do  know  thee  young,  for  thy  clasp  is  strong  and  quick 
with  life,  yet  wondrous  gentle.  God  bless  thee,  youthful 
sir,  for  'tis  well  to  meet  with  gentleness  within  a  world  so 
cruel.  Tell  me,  I  pray,  doth  this  road  lead  unto  Belsaye 
town?" 

"  Verily,"  answered  Beltane,  "  but  'tis  a  long  day's 
march  thither." 

"  Yet  needs  must  I  reach  there,  since  I  do  bear  a  mes- 
sage. But,  O  young  messire,  when  cruel  men  put  out  mine 
eyes,  the  good  God,  in  His  sweet  clemency,  made  sharp 
mine  ears.  So  do  I  know  thy  voice,  methinks,  for  voice 
of  one  who,  long  months  since,  did  cherish  me  in  my  need 
and  hunger,  and  sent  me  unto  the  saintly  Ambrose." 

"  Ha!  "  cried  Beltane  joyously,  "  and  is  it  thou  indeed? 
Tell  me,  how  doth  my  father?  —  is  he  well?  —  what  said 
he?  —  how  looked  he?     O,  I  do  yearn  for  word  of  him!  " 

"  Thy  father?  How,  young  sir,  is  he  indeed  thy 
father?  Then  is  thy  name  Beltane,  for  I  have  heard  him 
name  thee  oft  — " 

"  Forsooth,  and  did  he  so  ?  But  how  came  you  here, 
and  wherefore?  " 

"  To  seek  thee,  lord  Beltane,  according  to  thy  saintly 


382 


Beltane  the  Smith 


father's  word.  And  the  manner  of  it,  thus :  As  we  sat  to- 
gether of  a  certain  fair  noon  within  Holy  Cross  Thicket, 
there  came  to  us  thither  a  woman,  young,  methinks,  and 
fair,  for  her  speech  was  soft  and  wondrous  sweet  in  mine 
ears.  And  she  did  hail  thy  father  '  Duke,'  and  thereafter 
spake  thy  name  full  oft,  and  so  they  fell  to  many  words, 
walking  together  up  and  down  before  the  hut.  Anon,  sud- 
den and  silent  as  she  came,  she  was  gone,  and  thy  father 
walked  full  long,  praying  oft  as  one  that  rejoiceth  greatly, 
and  oft  as  one  in  deep  perplexity.  In  a  while  cometh  he 
to  me  and  gave  me  scrip  and  therewith  food  and  money, 
and  bade  me  seek  thee  in  Belsaye  and  speak  thee  thus : '  Tell 
Beltane,  my  well-beloved,  that  I,  his  father,  have  heard 
of  his  great  and  knightly  deeds  and  that  I  do  glory  in 
them,  praising  God.  Say  that  through  him  my  youth  and 
strength  are  renewed  and  my  great  sin  made  easier  to  bear. 
Tell  him  that  the  woes  of  Pentavalon  draw  to  an  end,  and 
that  ere  long  she  shall  arise  above  her  sorrows.  Bid  him 
be  of  good  courage  yet  a  little  longer,  for  the  lion  is  waked 
at  last,  and  the  leopard  also.'  Behold  now,  messire,  all's 
said."  And  the  blind  man  stood  with  down-bent  head,  one 
hand  grasping  the  staff,  his  other  arm  hid  within  his  wide 
sleeve,  what  time  Roger  watched  him  furtive  and  askance, 
and  moreover,  his  bow-stave  shook  and  quivered  in  his 
grasp ;  as  for  Beltane,  he  stood  as  one  lost  in  happy 
thought,  upon  his  lips  a  smile  ineffably  tender.  Smiling 
yet,  he  turned  and  touched  the  blind  man's  stooping  shoul- 
der.    Quoth  he: 

"  Greatly  welcome  is  thy  news  and  greatly  would  I 
thank  thee.  Pray  you  now,  how  may  I  show  my  grati- 
tude.? " 

"  Messire,  fain  would  I  shelter  me  in  Belsaye,  for  there 
is  fire  and  sword  and  battle  on  the  marches.  But  the  way 
is  long,  and  on  my  road  hither  two  rogues  took  from  me 
purse  and  scrip.  Give  me,  therefore,  enough  to  bear  me 
on  my  way." 

"  Aye,  verily !  Roger,  thou  dost  bear  the  purse.  Give 
him  store  of  money  and  some  of  our  food  —  see  that  he 


Roger  Wins  to  Fuller  Manhood      383 

lacketh  for  nothing,  Roger."  So  saying,  Beltane  turned 
him  away  and  fell  again  to  pondering  his  father's 
words. 

Now  at  sound  of  Roger's  name  the  blind  man  started 
round  and  fixed  Roger  with  the  horror  of  his  eyeless  sock- 
ets, and,  therewith,  flung  up  an  arm  as  though  fearing  a 
blow ;  and  behold !  this  arm  was  but  a  mutilated  stump,  for 
hand  was  there  none. 

"Roger!"  he  whispered,  "not  Roger  the  Black?  No, 
no !  There  be  a  many  Rogers.  But  who  art  thou  dost 
bear  such  a  name,  and  wherefore  cower  and  gasp  ye.^  " 

Then  stood  the  blind  man  with  head  out-thrust  and 
awful  arm  upraised,  before  which  Black  Roger  shrank  and 
shrank  to  cower  in  the  deeper  shadow. 

Of  a  sudden  the  blind  man  turned  and  coming  beside 
Beltane,  grasped  him  by  the  mantle. 

"  Lord,"  he  questioned,  "  who  is  he  that  trembleth  before 
the  maimed  and  blind?  —  who  is  he  that  croucheth  yon- 
der? " 

"  Nay,  fear  ye  nothing,"  said  Beltane,  "  'tis  none  but 
my  trusty  Roger,  my  good  comrade  in  arms  —  comfort 
ye !  "  Then  he  beckoned  Roger  and  took  the  purse  and 
gave  to  the  blind  man  bounteously,  saying: 

"  See  now,  when  you  shall  come  to  Belsaye  go  you  to 
Eric  that  hath  command  of  the  town  and  to  Giles  that  is 
captain  of  the  archers,  and  say  that  I,  Beltane,  will  come 
to  Belsaye  within  the  week,  and  all  our  company  with  me, 
God  willing.  Bid  them  be  vigilant  and  watch  for  our 
coming;  let  bows  be  strung  and  wall  and  turret  manned 
night  and  day.  So  now  fare  thee  well,  and  God's  hand 
guide  thy  sightless  going." 

Then  the  blind  man  blessed  Beltane,  and  turning,  forth- 
with set  out  upon  his  way,  and  his  staff  tapped  loud  upon 
the  forest-road.  Right  joyfully  Beltane  strode  on  again, 
his  mind  ever  busied  with  thought  of  his  father;  but 
Roger's  step  was  listless  and  heavy,  so  that  Beltane  must 
needs  turn  to  look  on  him,  and  straightway  marvelled  to 
see  how  he  hung  his  head,  and  that  his  ruddy  cheek  was 
grown  wondrous  pale  and  haggard. 


3^4 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Roger?  "  quoth  he,  "  art  sick,  Roger?  " 

"Sick,  lord?  nay  —  not  sick,  'tis  but  that  I  —  I — " 
But  when  he  would  have  said  more  his  voice  failed  him,  his 
lip  fell  a-quivering,  and  even  as  Beltane  stared  in  wonder, 
Black  Roger  groaned  and  flung  himself  upon  his  knees, 
and  hid  his  face  within  his  hands. 

"Why  Roger!  What  ails  thee,  Roger,  man?"  said 
Beltane  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  whereat  Roger 
groaned  again  and  shrank  away. 

"  Ah,  lord,  touch  me  not  1 "  he  cried,  "  unfit  am  I  for 
hand  of  thine,  unfit  and  all  unworthy  — " 

"  Nay,  good  friend  — " 

"  Master  —  master !  "  groaned  Roger,  and  therewith  a 
great  cry  brake  from  him  and  he  cast  himself  face  down- 
wards in  the  dust.  "  Unworthy  am  I  to  be  thy  man,  so 
must  I  leave  thee  this  night  —  aye,  leave  thee !  For  O  my 
lord!  yon  poor  blind  man — 'twas  I  —  at  the  Red  Per- 
tolepe's  command  — 'twas  I  —  did  bum  out  his  eyes  and  — 
cut  ofF  his  hand  — 'twas  I  —  I  —  Black  Roger !  O  Saint 
Cuthbert!  O  sweet  Jesu!  So  all  unworthy  am  I  to  be 
thy  man ! " 

And  now  great  sobs  shook  him,  fierce  sobs  and  bitter, 
and  he  writhed  there  in  the  dust,  groaning  in  the  agony  of 
his  remorse.  Little  by  little  his  passion  spent  itself,  but 
still  he  lay  there,  yearning  mightily  for  sound  of  his  mas- 
ter's voice  or  touch  of  his  hand,  yet  dared  he  not  look  up 
because  of  his  abasement. 

At  last,  whenas  his  sobs  had  ceased,  he  lifted  his 
wretched  head  and  stared  in  wide-eyed  wonder  to  see  Bel- 
tane upon  his  knees,  his  mailed  hands  clasped  and  his  lips 
moving  in  silent  prayer;  when,  his  prayer  ended,  he 
raised  his  head  and  straightway  Roger's  wonder  grew, 
for  behold !  the  eyes  of  Beltane  were  wondrous  gentle,  his 
mouth  sweet-curved  and  tender,  the  old  harsh  lines  of 
grim-curled  lip  and  lowering  brow  had  vanished  quite; 
and  thus  at  last  Black  Roger  saw  again  the  face 
of  my  Beltane  that  had  smiled  on  him  long  since  amid 
the  green  across  the  prostrate  form  of  poor  Beda  the 


Roger  Wins  to  Fuller  Manhood      385 

Jester.  So  now,  my  Beltane  smiled,  and  smiling,  reached 
forth  his  hand. 

"  Roger,"  said  he,  "  by  shame  and  agony  some  men  do 
win  to  new  life  and  fuller  manhood,  and  such  a  man,  me- 
thinks,  thou  art.  So  hath  God  need  of  thee,  and  from 
this  the  dust  of  thy  abasement,  mayhap,  shall  lift  thee,  one 
day,  high  as  heaven.  Stand  up,  Roger,  good  my  friend, 
stand  up,  O  man,  for  he  only  is  unworthy  that  ne'er  hath 
wept  remorseful  in  the  dust  for  evil  past  and  done." 

Then  Roger  grasped  that  strong,  uplifting  hand,  and 
stood  upon  his  feet,  yet  spake  he  no  word ;  and  presently 
they  went  on  along  the  road  together. 

And  Roger's  habit  was  stained  with  dust,  and  on  his 
cheek  the  mark  of  bitter  tears  —  but  his  head  was  high 
and  manfully  uplifted. 


CHAPTER  LII 

HOW  THEY  HAD  NEWS  OF  WALKYN 

Now  went  they  in  silence  again  for  that  Beltane  dreamed 
of  many  things  while  Roger  marvelled  within  himself,  oft 
turning  to  look  on  my  Beltane's  radiant  face,  while  ever 
his  wonder  grew ;  so  oft  did  he  turn  thus  to  gape  and  stare 
that  Beltane,  chancing  to  meet  his  look,  smiled  and  ques- 
tioned him,  thus : 

"  Why  gape  ye  on  me  so,  Roger  man?  " 

"  For  wonder,  master," 

"Wherefore?" 

"  To  see  thee  so  suddenly  thyself  again  —  truly  Saint 
Cuthbert  is  a  potent  saint !  " 

"  And  thou  a  sturdy  pray-er,  good  Roger." 

"  And  most  vile  sinner,  lord.  Howbeit  I  have  dared 
supplicate  on  thy  behalf  and  behold !  thou  art  indeed  thy- 
self again  —  that  same  sweet  and  gentle  youth  that  smote 
me  on  my  knavish  mazzard  with  thy  stout  quarter-staff  in 
Shevening  Thicket  in  the  matter  of  Beda,  Red  Pertolepe's 
fool  —  a  dour  ding,  yon,  master  —  forsooth,  a  woundy 
rap !  " 

Now  fell  they  to  thoughtful  silence  again,  but  oft  Black 
Roger's  stride  waxed  uneven,  and  oft  he  stumbled  in  his 
going,  wherefore  Beltane  slackened  his  pace. 

"What  is  it,  Roger?" 

"  Naught  but  my  legs,  master.     Heed  'em  not." 

"Thy  legs?" 

"  They  be  shorter  than  thine,  lord,  and  love  not  to  wag 
so  fast.  An  thou  could'st  abate  thy  speed  a  little  —  a 
very  little,  master,  they  shall  thank  thee  dearly." 

"  Art  so  weary,  Roger?  " 

"  Master,  I  was  afoot  ere  sunrise." 


How  They  Had  News  of  Walkyn     387 

"  Why  truly,  Roger.  Yet  do  I,  to  mine  own  selfish 
ends,  keep  thee  from  thy  slumber  thus.  Verily  a  selfish 
man,  I!" 

"  Not  so,  master,  indeed  — " 

"  So  now  will  we  halt,  and  thou  shalt  to  thy  rest." 

"  Why  then,  lord,  let  us  to  the  Hollow  —  it  lieth  scarce 
a  mile  through  the  brush  yonder,  and  'twas  there  I  did 
appoint  for  Walkyn  to  meet  with  thee  again  —  so  shall  we 
sleep  secure ;  moreover  I  have  a  feeling  —  as  it  were  one 
calling  us  thither,  a  wondrous  strange  feeling,  master! 
Mayhap  we  shall  come  by  news  of  Walkyn  there  — " 

"  'Tis  well  bethought,  Roger.      Come  thy  ways." 

Forthwith  turned  they  from  the  forest-road,  and  forcing 
their  way  through  a  leafy  tangle,  presently  came  out  into 
a  ride,  or  narrow  glade;  but  they  had  gone  only  a  very 
little  distance  when  they  espied  the  red  glow  of  a  fire 
within  a  thicket  hard  by,  and  therewith  the  sound  of 
voices  reached  them: 

"  Three  great  bags,  I  tell  thee !  "  cried  one  voice,  high 
and  querulous,  "  three  great,  fair  and  goodly  bags  full 
crammed  of  sweet  gold  pieces!  All  my  lord  Duke's  reve-' 
nue  of  Winisfame  and  the  villages  adjacent  thereunto! 
Taxes,  see  ye,  my  lord  Duke's  taxes  —  and  all  stolen,  reft, 
and  ravished  from  me,  Guido,  Steward  and  Bailiff  of  the 
northern  Marches,  by  clapper-claws  and  raveners  lewd  and 
damned !     Woe's  me  for  my  lord's  good  money-bags  !  " 

"  O,  content  thee ! "  spake  another  voice,  sleepy  and 
full-fed,  "  for,  an  these  monies  were  the  Duke's  they  were 
not  thine,  and  if  they  were  not  thine  thou  wert  not  robbed, 
and,  since  thou  wert  not  robbed,  wherefore  groan  and 
glower  ye  on  the  moon.^*  Moreover,  thou  hast  yet  certain 
monies  thou  didst  —  collect  —  from  yon  blind  fellow,  the 
which  remindeth  me  I  have  not  yet  my  share.  So  pray 
thee  now  disburse,  good  steward." 

Hereupon,  ere  Beltane  could  stay  him,  Roger  slipped, 
soft-treading,  into  the  undergrowth ;  upon  whose  vanish- 
ing the  air  grew  very  suddenly  full  of  shouts  and  cries,  of 
scuffling  sounds  and  woeful  pleadings ;  and  striding  for- 


388 


Beltane  the  Smith 


ward,  Beltane  beheld  two  men  that  crouched  on  bended 
knees,  while  Roger,  fierce  and  threatening,  stood  betwixt,  a 
hairy  hand  upon  the  throat  of  each.  Now  beholding  Bel- 
tane, they  (these  gasping  rogues)  incontinent  beset  him 
with  whimpering  entreaties,  beseeching  of  him  their  lives. 
Ragged  knaves  they  seemed,  and  in  woeful  plight  —  the 
one  a  lank  fellow  and  saturnine,  with  long,  down-trending, 
hungry  nose;  the  other  a  little  man,  plump  and  buxom, 
whose  round  eyes  blinked  woefully  in  his  round  and 
rosy  face  as  he  bent  'neath  Roger's  heavy  hand.  Yet 
spake  he  to  Beltane  in  soft  and  soothing  accents,  on 
this  wise: 

"  Resplendent  sir,  behold  this  thy  most  officious  wight 
who  doth  my  tender  throat  with  hurtful  hand  encompass  — • 
doubtless  to  some  wise  and  gracious  end  an  he  doth  squeeze 
me  thus  at  thy  command.  Yet,  noble  sir,  humbly  would  I 
woo  of  thee  the  mercy  of  a  little  more  air,  lest  this  right 
noble  youth  do  choke  me  quite !  " 

But  hereupon  the  lank  fellow  cried  out,  bold  and  queru- 
lous: 

"  Take  ye  heed,  for  whoso  dareth  lay  hand  on  me,  touch- 
eth  the  person  of  Duke  Ivo's  puissant  self !  " 

"Ha  —  say  ye  so?"  growled  Roger,  and  forthwith 
squeezed  him  until  he  gasped  again. 

"  Loose  me,  knave !  "  he  panted,  "  Duke  Ivo's  Steward, 
I  —  Bailiff  of  the  northern  Marches  with  —  towns  and  vil- 
lages —  adjacent  thereunto  — " 

"  Unhand  them,  Roger,"  said  Beltane,  "  entreat  them 
gently  —  in  especial  my  lord  Duke's  Steward  and  Bailiff 
of  the  Marches,  if  so  he  be  in  very  truth." 

"  Yea  my  lord,  in  very  truth  !  "  cried  the  Bailiff.  "  But 
two  days  since  in  ermined  robe  and  chain  of  office,  a  nota- 
ble man,  I,  courted  by  many,  feared  by  more,  right  well 
be-seen  by  all,  with  goodly  horse  betwixt  my  knees  and 
lusty  men-at-arms  at  my  beck  and  call.  To-night,  alas 
and  woe !  thou  see'st  me  a  ragged  loon,  a  sorry  wight  the 
meanest  rogue  would  scorn  to  bow  to,  and  the  very  children 
jeer  at  —  and  all  by  reason  of  a  lewd,  black-avised  clap- 


How  They  Had  News  of  Walkyn     389 

per-claw  that  doth  flourish  him  a  mighty  axe  —  O,  a  vile, 
seditious  fellow  ripe  for  the  gallows." 

"  Ah !  with  an  axe  say'st  thou,  sir  Bailiff?  " 

"  O  most  infallibly  an  axe,  messire  —  a  ponderous  axe 
with  haft  the  length  of  this  my  leg.  A  vilely  tall,  base, 
and  most  unseemly  dog  that  hath  spoiled  me  of  my  lord's 
sweet  money-bags,  wherefore  I  yearn  to  see  him  wriggle 
in  a  noose.  To  the  which  end  I  journey  in  these  my  rags, 
unto  my  lord  Duke  on  Barham  Broom,  with  tale  of  wrong 
and  outrage  most  abominable." 

"And  dared  they  rob  thee  indeed.''"  quoth  Beltane, 
"  and  thou  my  lord  Duke's  High  Steward  and  Bailiff  of 
the  Marches !  Come,  sit  ye  down  and  tell  me  of  the  mat- 
ter —  and  Roger,  methinks  he  shall  talk  the  better  an  thou 
keep  thy  fingers  farther  from  his  wind-pipe." 

So  down  sat  they  together  round  the  fire,  and,  what  time 
the  little  buxom  man  viewed  Beltane  'twixt  stealthy  lids 
from  golden  spur  to  open  bascinet,  the  Bailiff  fell  to  his 
tale,  as  foUoweth: 

"  Know  then,  good  and  noble  sir  knight,  that  I  sat  me, 
but  two  days  since,  in  right  fair  and  goodly  estate,  my 
lackeys  to  hand,  my  men-at-arms  at  my  back  (twenty  tall 
fellows).  I  sat  me  thus,  I  say,  within  the  square  at  Winis- 
farne,  whither,  by  sound  of  trumpet,  I  had  summoned  me 
the  knavish  townsfolk  to  pay  into  my  hand  my  lord  Duke's 
rightful  dues  and  taxes,  which  folk  it  is  my  custom  to  calj 
upon  by  name  and  one  by  one.  When  lo !  of  a  sudden, 
and  all  uncalled,  comes  me  a  great,  tall  fellow,  this  same 
black-avised  knave,  and  forthwith  seized  him  one  of  my 
lord's  great  money-bags,  and  when  I  would  have  denied 
him,  set  me  his  axe  beneath  my  very  nose.  Thereafter 
took  he  the  bags  all  three  and  scattered  (0  hateful  — 
hateful  sight!)  my  lord's  good  monies  among  the  base 
rabblement.  And,  when  my  lusty  fellows  sought  to  appre- 
hend me  this  rogue,  he  smote  them  dolefully  and  roared  in 
hideous  fashion  *  Arise  —  Pentavalon ! '  And  straight- 
way, at  this  lewd  shout,  forth  of  the  crowd  leapt  many 
other  rogues  bedight  as  gentle  knights  in  noble  mail,  cap- 


390  Beltane  the  Smith 

a-pie,  and  fell  upon  us  and  smote  us  dire,  and  stripped  me 
of  my  goodly  apparel,  and  drave  me  forth  of  the  town 
with  stripes  and  blows  and  laughter  most  ungentle.  So 
here  sit  I,  poor  Guido,  Steward  and  Bailiff  of  the  Marches, 
in  most  vile  estate,  very  full  of  woe  yet,  alack,  empty  of 
belly." 

"  But,"  says  Beltane,  shaking  his  head,  "  within  thy 
pouch,  methinks,  a  blind  man's  money." 

"  How  —  a  blind  man  ?  "  gasped  the  Bailiff,  "  a  blind 
man's  monies,  say'st  thou?     Nay  messire,  in  very  truth." 

"  Search  him,  Roger." 

Hereupon  Roger,  having  straightway  choked  him  to 
silence  with  the  one  hand  full  soon  had  found  the  money 
with  the  other,  and  thereafter,  he  loosed  the  Bailiff  that  he 
might  get  his  breath  again;  the  which  he  no  sooner  had 
done  than  he  fell  to  prayers  and  humble  entreaties : 

"  Sir  knight  —  right  noble  sir,  sure  thou  wilt  not  take 
thus  from  a  woeful  wight  all  that  he  hath." 

"  Nay,"  answered  Beltane,  "  I  take  only  from  my  lord 
Duke's  Steward  and  Bailiff  of  the  Marches.  And  now," 
said  he,  turning  upon  the  small,  round  man,  "  thou  hast 
marked  me  well,  how  say  you.  Pardoner?  " 

"  First,  most  truly  potent,  wise,  yet  very  youthful,  noble 
sir,  that  for  all  the  world  and  all  the  glory  thereof  I  would 
not  anger  thee." 

"  Hast  good  eyes.  Pardoner,  and  art  quick  to  heed." 

"  Nay,  dull  am  I,  sweet  lord,  aye,  dull  forsooth  and  slow 
beyond  belief." 

"  Would'st  know  me  again  ?  could'st  bear  my  likeness  in 
thy  memory  ?  " 

"  Never,  lord.  Never,  O  never !  I  swear  it  by  the  toe 
of  the  blessed  Didymus,  by  the  arm  of  Saint  Amphibalus 
thrice  blessed,  by  — " 

"  Why  then.  Pardoner,  behold  here  my  belt  of  silver, 
my  good,  long-bladed  sword.  And  here  —  behold  my  yel- 
low hair !  "  and  off  came  bascinet,  and  back  fell  mail-coif, 
whereat  the  Bailiff  started  and  caught  his  breath  and 
stared  on  Beltane  in  sudden  awe. 


How  They  Had  News  of  Walkyn     391 

"  Dost  mark  me  well,  Pardoner  ?  " 

"  Aye,  noble  sir,  verily  and  in  truth  do  I.  So,  next 
time  I  think  on  thee  thou  wilt  be  a  squat  man,  middle-aged 
and  black-haired.  For,  my  lord,  a  poor  Pardoner  I,  but 
nought  beside." 

Then  Beltane  did  on  coif  and  bascinet  and  rose  to  his 
feet,  whereat  the  Bailiff  cried  out  in  sudden  fear  and  knelt 
with  hands  upraised: 

"  Slay  me  not,  my  lord !  O  messire  Beltane,  spare  my 
life  nor  think  I  will  betray  thee,  outlaw  though  thou  art !  " 

"  Fear  not,  sir  Bailiff,"  answered  Beltane,  "  thy  life  is 
safe  from  me.  But,  when  thou  dost  name  me  to  thy  lord, 
Duke  Ivo,  tell  him  that  I  spake  thee  this :  That,  whiles  I 
do  lie  within  the  green  he  shall  not  sleep  o*  nights  but  I 
will  be  at  work  with  fire  and  steel,  nor  rest  nor  stay  until 
he  and  the  evil  of  him  be  purged  from  this  my  father's 
duchy  of  Pentavalon  —  say  I  bid  him  remember  this  upon 
his  pillow.  Tell  him  that  whiles  I  do  hold  the  woods  my 
powers  grow  daily,  and  so  will  I  storm  and  burn  his 
castles,  one  by  one,  as  I  did  burn  Garthlaxton.  Say  I  bid 
him  to  think  upon  these  things  what  time  he  wooeth  slum- 
ber in  the  night.  As  to  thee,  thou  wily  Pardoner,  when 
thou  shalt  come  to  betray  this  our  meeting,  say  that  I  told 
thee,  that  as  Belsa3^e  rose,  and  Winisfarne,  so  shall  town 
and  village  rise  until  Ivo  and  his  like  are  driven  hence,  or 
Beltane  slain  and  made  an  end  of.  And  so  —  fare  ye  well ! 
Come,  Roger ! "  Then  Beltane  strode  away  with  grim 
Roger  at  his  heels  what  time  the  Bailiff  and  the  Pardoner 
stared  in  dumb  amaze. 

'*  Here,"  quoth  the  Pardoner  at  last,  stroking  his  round 
chin,  "  here  was  a  man,  methinks,  wherefore  are  we  yet 
alive !  " 

"  Here,"  quoth  the  Bailiff,  scratching  his  long  nose, 
"  here  was  a  fool,  methinks,  for  that  we  are  alive.  A 
traitor,  see  ye,  Pardoner,  whose  yellow  head  is  worth  its 
weight  in  gold !  Truly,  truly,  here  was  a  very  fool !  "  So 
saying,  he  arose,  albeit  furtively,  and  slipping  forthwith 
into  the  shadow,  crept  furtively  away  until  the  fire-glow 


392  Beltane  the  Smith 

was  lost  and  hidden  far  behind  him.  Then,  very  suddenly, 
he  betook  him  to  his  heels,  and  coming  to  the  forest-road, 
fled  southwards  towards  Duke  Ivo's  great  camp  that  lay 
on  Barham  Broom. 


CHAPTER  LIII 

OF    JOLETTE,    THAT    WAS    A   WITCH 

"  Lord,'*  said  Roger,  shaking  his  head,  as  they  halted  upon 
the  edge  of  the  Hollow,  "  lord,  'twere  better  thou  hadst 
let  me  strangle  them ;  those  dogs  will  bay  of  thee  to  Black 
Ivo  ere  this  time  to-morrow !  " 

"  'Tis  so  I  hope,  Roger." 

"Hope?" 

*'  Could  I  but  lure  Black  Ivo  into  the  wild,  Roger,  where 
swamp  and  thicket  should  fight  for  us !  Could  I  but  draw 
him  hither  after  me,  of  what  avail  the  might  of  his  heavy 
chivalry  upon  this  narrow  forest-road,  his  close-ranked 
foot-men  a  sure  mark  for  the  arrows  of  our  war-wise  for- 
esters? Thus,  our  pikes  in  front,  a  charge  in  flank,  his 
line  once  pierced  needs  must  follow  confusion  and  disorder. 
Then  press  we  where  his  banner  flieth,  and,  hemmed  in  by 
our  pikes  and  gisarms  and  Giles's  bowmen,  he  once  our 
prisoner  or  slain,  his  great  army  would  crumble  and  melt 
away,  since  they  do  serve  but  for  base  hire,  whiles  we, 
though  few,  do  smite  amain  for  home  and  children.  O 
Roger  man,  could  I  but  lure  him  into  the  green !  " 

"  Yet  methinks  there  is  a  surer  way,  master." 

*'  How  —  as  how,  Roger?  " 

"  Wed  thou  thy  Duchess,  and  so  bring  down  on  him  all 
the  powers  of  Mortain !  " 

"  Roger,  dost  well  know  my  mind  on  this  matter ;  prate 
ye  no  more !  " 

"  Then  will  I  pray,  master  —  so  I  do  warn  thee  !  For- 
sooth, I  will  this  night  fall  to  work  upon  the  good  saint 
and  plague  him  right  prayerfully  that  thy  Duchess  may 
come  and  save  thee  and  thy  Duchy  in  despite  of  thee,  and 
having  made  thee  Duke  of  Pentavalon  with  her  lances, 


394  Beltane  the  Smith 

thereafter  make  thee  Duke  of  Mortain  in  her  own  sweet 
body,  for  as  I  do  know  — " 

But  Beltane  was  already  descending  the  steep  path  lead- 
ing down  into  the  great  green  hollow  that  lay  all  silent  and 
deserted  'neath  the  ghostly  moon,  where  nought  stirred  in 
the  windless  air,  where  bush  and  tree  cast  shadows  mon- 
strous and  distorted,  and  where  no  sound  brake  the  brood- 
ing quiet  save  the  murmurous  ripple  of  the  brook  that 
flowed  to  lose  itself  in  the  gloomy  waters  of  that  deep  and 
sullen  pool. 

Swift  and  sure-treading  as  only  foresters  might,  they 
descended  the  steep,  and  lured  by  some  elfin  fancy,  Beltane 
must  needs  come  to  stand  beside  the  pool  and  to  stare  down 
into  those  silent  waters,  very  dark  by  reason  of  that  great 
tree  'neath  whose  writhen  branches  Tostig  the  outlaw  had 
fought  and  died;  so  stood  Beltane  awhile  lost  in  contem- 
plation, what  time  Roger,  drawing  ever  nearer  his  master's 
elbow,  shivered  and  crossed  himself  full  oft. 

"  Come  away,  master,"  said  he  at  last,  low-voiced,  "  I 
love  not  this  pool  at  any  time,  more  especially  at  the  full  o' 
the  moon.  On  such  nights  ghosts  do  walk!  Tostig  was 
an  ill  man  in  life,  but  Tostig's  ghost  should  be  a  thing  to 
fright  the  boldest  —  prithee,  come  away." 

"  Go  get  thee  to  thy  rest,  Roger.  As  for  me,  I  would 
fain  think." 

"  But  wherefore  here?  " 
"  For  that  I  am  so  minded." 

"  So  be  it,  master.  God  send  thy  thoughts  be  fair." 
So  saying,  Roger  turned  where,  on  the  further  side  of  the 
Hollow,  lay  those  caves  'neath  the  rocky  bank  wherein  the 
outlaws  had  been  wont  to  sleep.  But,  of  a  sudden,  Beltane 
heard  a  hoarse  scream,  a  gasp  of  terror,  and  Roger  was 
back  beside  him,  his  naked  broad-sword  all  a-shake  in  his 
trembling  hand,  his  eyes  wide  and  rolling. 

"  Master  —  O  master !  "  he  whimpered,  "  ghosts !  'neath 
the  tree  —  Tostig  —  the  Dead  Hand !  " 
"  Nay,  what  folly  is  here,  Roger?  " 
"  Lord,  'twas  the  Dead  Hand  —  touched  me  —  on  the 


of  Jolette,  That  Was  a  Witch     395 

brow  —  in  the  shadow  yonder !  Aye  —  on  the  brow  — 
'neath  the  tree!  O  master,  dead  men  are  we,  'tis  Tostig 
come  to  drag  us  back  to  hell  with  him !  "  And  crouching  on 
his  knees,  Roger  fell  to  desperate  prayers. 

Then  Beltane  turned  whither  Roger's  shaking  finger  had 
pointed,  and  strode  beneath  the  great  tree.  And  peering 
up  through  the  dark,  he  presently  espied  a  shadowy  thing 
that  moved  amid  a  gloom  of  leaves  and  branches ;  and,  be- 
holding what  it  was,  he  drew  sword  and  smote  high  above 
his  head. 

Something  thudded  heavily  upon  the  grass  and  lay  there, 
mute  and  rigid,  while  Beltane,  leaning  upon  his  sword, 
stared  do^vn  at  that  fell  shape,  and  breathing  the  noxious 
reek  of  it,  was  seized  of  trembling  horror ;  nevertheless  he 
stooped,  and  reaching  out  a  hand  of  loathing  in  the  dim- 
ness, found  the  cord  whereby  it  had  swung  and  dragged 
the  rigid,  weighty  thing  out  into  the  radiance  of  the  moon 
until  he  could  see  a  pallid  face  twisted  and  distorted  by 
sharp  and  cruel  death.  Now  in  this  moment  Roger  sware 
a  fierce,  great  oath,  and  forthwith  kicked  those  stifi*ened 
limbs. 

"  Ha ! "  cried  he,  "  methought  'twas  Tostig  his  ghost 
come  for  to  drag  us  down  into  yon  accursed  pool  —  and 
'tis  naught  but  the  traitor-rogue  Gurth !  " 
"And  dead,  Roger!" 

"  Forsooth,  he's  dead  enough,  master  —  faugh !  " 
"  And  it  availeth  nothing  to  kick  a  dead  man,  Roger." 
"  Yet  was  he  an  arrant  knave,  master." 
*'  And  hath  paid  for  his  knavery,  methinks !  " 
"  A  very  rogue !  a  traitor !  a  rogue  of  rogues,  master !  " 
*'  Then  hath  he  the  more  need  of  our  prayers,  Roger." 
"  Prayers !     How,  lord,  would'st  pray  for  —  this  ?  " 
"  Nay,  Roger,  but  thou  shalt,  since  thou  art  potent  in 
prayer  these  days."     So  saying,  Beltane  knelt  upon  the 
sward  and  folded  reverent  hands ;  whereupon  Roger,  some- 
what abashed,  having  set  his  sword  upright  in  the  ling  as 
was  his  custom,  presently  knelt  likewise,  and  clearing  his 
throat,  spake  aloud  in  this  fashion: 


396 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Holy  Saint  Cuthbert,  thou  see'st  here  all  that  is  left 
of  one  that  in  life  was  a  filthy,  lewd,  and  traitorous  knave, 
insomuch  that  he  hath,  methinks,  died  of  roguery.  Now, 
most  blessed  saint,  do  thy  best  for  the  knavish  soul  of 
him,  intercede  on  his  behalf  that  he  may  suffer  no  more 
than  he  should.  And  this  is  the  prayer  of  me,  Black 
Roger,  that  has  been  a  vile  sinner  as  I  have  told  thee, 
though  traitor  to  no  man,  I  praise  God.  But,  most  blessed 
and  right  potent  saint,  while  I  am  at  the  ears  of  thee,  fain 
would  I  crave  thy  aid  on  matter  of  vasty  weight  and  im- 
port. To  wit,  good  saint:  let  now  Sir  Fidelis,  who,  as 
ye  well  know,  doth  hide  womanly  beauties  in  ungentle  steel 
—  let  now  this  brave  and  noble  lady  muster  forthwith  all 
the  powers  within  her  Duchy  of  Mortain  —  every  lusty 
fellow,  good  saint  —  and  hither  march  them  to  my  mas- 
ter's aid.  Let  her  smite  and  utterly  confound  Black  Ivo, 
who  ( as  oft  I've  told  thee  —  moreover  thine  eyes  are 
sharp),  is  but  a  rogue  high-born,  fitter  for  gallows  than 
ducal  crown,  even  as  this  most  unsavoury  Gurth  was  a 
rogue  low-bom.  So  when  she  hath  saved  my  master  de- 
spite himself,  sweet  saint,  then  do  thou  join  them  heart 
and  body,  give  them  joy  abounding  and  happiness  endur- 
ing, nor  forget  them  in  the  matter  of  comely  children.  So 
bring  to  woeful  Pentavalon  and  to  us  all  and  every,  peace 
at  last  and  prosperity  —  and  to  sorrowful  Roger  a  belt 
wherein  be  no  accursed  notches  and  a  soul  made  clean.  In 
nomen  Dominum,  Amen!  " 

"  Master,"  quoth  he,  yet  upon  his  knees  and  viewing  Bel- 
tane somewhat  askance,  "  here  is  the  best  I  can  do  for  such 
as  yon  Gurth;  will't  suffice,  think  ye?  " 

"  Aye,  'twill  serve,  Roger.  But,  for  the  other  mat- 
ter — " 

"  Why  see  you,  master,  a  man  may  freely  speak  his  dear 
desires  within  his  prayers  —  more  especially  when  his 
prayers  are  potent,  as  mine.  Moreover  I  warned  thee  — 
I  warned  thee  I  would  pray  for  thee  —  and  pray  for  thee 
I  have."  Now  hereupon  Beltane  rose  somewhat  hastily 
and  turned  his  back,  what  time  Roger  sheathed  his  sword. 


of  Jolette,  That  Was  a  Witch     397 

Then    spake   Beltane,    turning  him    to   the   pool   again: 

"  We  had  store  of  tools  and  mattocks,  I  mind  me.  Go 
and  look  within  the  caves  if  there  be  ever  a  one  left,  for  now 
must  we  bury  this  poor  clay." 

"  Ha,  must  we  pray  for  him  —  and  bury  him,  master.?  " 

"  And  bury  him,  Roger." 

Then  Roger  sighed  and  shook  his  head  and  so  left  Bel- 
tane, who  fell  again  to  profound  meditation ;  but  of  a  sud- 
den hearing  a  cry,  he  turned  to  behold  Roger  running  very 
fleetly,  who,  coming  near,  caught  him  by  the  arm  and 
sought  to  drag  him  away. 

"Run!"  he  panted,  "run,  master  —  I  ha'  just  seen 
a  goblin  —  run,  master !  " 

Now  beholding  the  terror  in  Roger's  eyes.  Beltane  un- 
sheathed his  sword.     "  Show  me,  Roger,"  said  he. 

"  Nay,  lord  —  of  what  avail  .f*  Let's  away,  this  place  is 
rank  o'  deviltries  and  witchcraft  — " 

"  Show  me,  Roger  —  come !  " 

Perforce,  Roger  led  the  way,  very  heedful  to  avoid  each 
patch  of  shadow,  until  they  were  come  opposite  that  cave 
where  aforetime  Beltane  had  been  customed  to  sleep.  Here 
Roger  paused. 

"  Master,"  he  whispered,  "  there  is  a  thing  within  that 
groaneth  —  goblin-groans,  master.  A  thing  very  like 
unto  a  goblin,  for  I  ha'  seen  it  —  a  pale  thing  that  creepeth 
' —  holy  saints,  'tis  here  again  —  hark  to  it !  " 

And  in  very  truth  Beltane  heard  a  sound  the  which,  soft 
though  it  was,  checked  his  breath  and  chilled  his  flesh ;  and, 
as  he  peered  into  the  gloomy  recesses  of  the  cavern,  there 
moved  something  vague  amid  the  shadows,  something  that 
rose  up  slow  and  painfully. 

Roger  was  down  gasping  on  his  knees.  Beltane's  hand 
was  tight-clenched  upoi^  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  as  out  into 
the  moonlight  crept  one,  very  bent  and  feeble,  shrouded 
in  a  long  grey  cloak ;  a  pitiful  figure,  that,  leaning  a  hand 
upon  the  rock,  slowly  raised  a  drooping  head.  Then  Bel- 
tane saw  that  this  was  the  witch  Jolette. 

A  while  she  stood  thus,  one  hand  supporting  her  against 


398  Beltane  the  Smith 

the  rocky  bank,  the  other  hid  within  the  folds  of  her  long 
mantle. 

"  O  my  lord !  "  said  she,  low-voiced,  "  all  day  long  my 
heart  hath  been  calling  —  calling  to  thee ;  so  art  come  at 
last  —  thanks  be  to  God  —  O  my  lord  Beltane!" 

Now  as  she  spake,  she  reached  out  a  hand  to  him  so  that 
the  shrouding  mantle  fell  away;  then,  beholding  what  it 
had  hid,  Beltane  let  fall  his  sword,  and  leaping  forward, 
caught  her  within  his  arm. 

"  Ah !  —  thou'rt  hurt !  "  he  cried. 

"  My  lord,  I  —  strove  to  bind  it  up  —  I  am  cunning  in 
herbs  and  simples  —  but  my  hurt  is  too  deep  for  any  leech- 
craft.  To-night  —  soon  —  I  must  die.  Lay  me  down,  I 
pray  thee.  Thine  arms  are  strong,  lord  Beltane,  and  — 
very  gentle.  How,  dost  grieve  for  a  witch,  lord  —  for 
poor  Jolette?  Nay,  comfort  ye  —  my  life  has  been  none 
so  sweet  I  should  dread  to  lose  it." 

"  How  cometh  this?  "  he  questioned  gently,  on  his  knees 
beside  her. 

"  'Twas  the  Red  Pertolepe's  men  —  nay,  messire,  they 
have  but  killed  me.  But  O,  my  dear  lord  —  heed  me  well. 
A  week  agone  lord  Pertolepe  marched  hither  seeking  thee 
with  a  great  company  led  by  yon  Gurth.  And  when  he 
found  thee  not  he  hanged  Gurth,  yet  tarried  here  awhile. 
Then  I,  knowing  a  secret  path  hither  that  none  else  do 
know,  came  and  hearkened  to  their  councils.  So  do  I 
know  that  he  is  marched  for  Winisfame  — " 

"  Ha,  is  this  so  !  "  cried  Beltane,  clenching  his  fist,  "  then 
will  he  hang  and  burn !  " 

"  Aye,  'tis  like  enough,  messire.  But  —  O  heed  me !  He 
goeth  for  a  deeper  purpose  —  list.  Beltane  —  O  list  —  he 
goeth  to  seize  upon  the  noble  and  saintly  Abbess  Veronica 
—  to  bear  her  captive  unto  Pentavalon  city,  there  to  hold 
her  hostage  for  —  for  thee,  Beltane  —  for  thee !  " 
"  How  mean  you?  " 

"When  he  hath  her  safe,  Duke  Ivo,  because  he  hath 
learned  to  fear  thee  at  last,  will  send  envoys  to  thee  de- 
manding thou  shalt  yield  up  to  him  the  town  of  Belsaye 


of  Jolette,  That  Was  a  Witch     399 

and  thy  body  to  his  mercy,  or  this  fair  and  noble  lady 
Abbess  shall  be  shamed  and  dishonoured,  and  know  a  death 
most  dire.  And  —  ah !  because  thou  art  the  man  thou  art, 
thou  must  needs  yield  thyself  to  Ivo's  cruel  hands,  and 
Belsaye  to  flame  and  ravishment." 

"  Not  so,"  answered  Beltane,  frowning,  "  within  Belsaye 
are  many  women  and  children  also,  nor  should  these  die 
that  one  might  live,  saintly  abbess  though  she  be." 

Now  hereupon  the  witch  Jolette  raised  herself,  and  set 
her  two  hands  passionately  on  Beltane's  shoulders,  and 
looked  upon  him  great-eyed  and  fearful. 

"  Ah,  Beltane  —  Beltane,  my  lord !  "  she  panted,  "  but 
that  I  am  under  a  vow,  now  could  I  tell  thee  a  thing  would 
fire  thy  soul  to  madness  —  but,  O  believe,  believe,  and 
know  ye  this  —  when  Duke  Ivo's  embassy  shall  tell  thee  all, 
thou  —  shalt  suffer  them  to  take  thee  —  thou  shalt  endure 
bonds  and  shame  and  death  itself.  So  now  thou  shalt 
swear  to  a  dying  woman  that  thou  wilt  not  rest  nor  stay 
until  thou  shalt  free  this  lady  Abbess,  for  on  her  safety 
doth  hang  thy  life  and  the  freedom  of  Pentavalon.  Swear, 
O  swear  me  this,  my  lord  Beltane,  so  shall  I  die  in  peace. 
Swear  —  O  swear!" 

Now,  looking  within  her  glowing  eyes,  feeling  the  tremble 
of  her  passionate-pleading  hands.  Beltane  bowed  his  head. 

"  I  swear !  "  said  he. 

"  So  now  may  God  hear  —  this  thy  oath,  and  I  —  die 
in  peace  — " 

And  saying  this,  Jolette  sank  in  his  arms  and  lay  a  while 
as  one  that  swoons ;  but  presently  her  heavy  eyes  unclosed 
and  on  her  lips  there  dawned  a  smile  right  wondrous  to  be- 
hold, so  marvellous  tender  was  it. 

"  I  pray  thee,  lord,  unhelm  —  that  I  may  see  thee  — 
once  again  —  thy  golden  hair  — " 

Wondering,  but  nothing  speaking,  Beltane  laid  by  his 
bascinet,  threw  back  his  mail-coif,  and  bent  above  her  low 
and  lower,  until  she  might  reach  up  and  touch  those  golden 
curls  with  failing  hand. 

"  Lord  Beltane !  —  boy  !  "  she  whispered,  "  stoop  lower, 


400  Beltane  the  Smith 

mine  eyes  fail.  Hearken,  O  my  heart!  Even  as  thy 
strong  arms  do  cradle  me,  so  —  have  these  arms  —  held 
thee,  O  Httle  Beltane,  I  —  have  borne  thee  oft  upon  my 
heart  —  ere  now.  Oft  have  hushed  thee  to  rosy  sleep  — 
upon  this  bosom.  'Twas  from  —  these  arms  Sir  Benedict 
caught  thee  on  —  that  woeful  day.  For  I  that  die  here 
—  against  thy  heart.  Beltane  —  am  Jolette,  thy  foster- 
mother  —  wilt  thou  —  kiss  me  —  once?  " 

So  Beltane  stooped  and  kissed  her,  and,  when  he  laid  her 
down,  Jolette  the  witch  was  dead. 

Full  long  Beltane  knelt,  absorbed  in  prayer,  and  as  he 
prayed,  he  wept.  So  long  knelt  he  thus,  that  at  last  Com- 
eth Roger,  treading  soft  and  reverently,  and  touched  him. 

"  Master !  "  he  whispered. 

Then  Beltane  arose  as  one  that  dreams  and  stood  a  while 
looking  down  upon  that  pale  and  placid  face,  on  whose 
silent  lips  the  wondrous  smile  still  lingered.  But  of  a  sud- 
den, Roger's  fingers  grasped  his  arm. 

"Master!"  he  whispered  again.  Thereon  Beltane 
turned  and  thus  he  saw  that  Roger  looked  neither  on  him 
nor  on  the  dead  and  that  he  pointed  with  shaking  finger. 
Now,  glancing  whither  he  pointed,  Beltane  beheld,  high  on 
the  bank  above  them,  a  mounted  knight  armed  cap-a-pie, 
who  stared  down  at  them  through  closed  visor  —  a  fierce 
and  war-like  figure  looming  gigantic  athwart  the  splendour 
of  the  sinking  moon.  And  even  as  they  stared  in  wonder, 
a  broad  shield  flashed,  and  knight  and  horse  were  gone. 


CHAPTER  LIV 

HOW    BELTANE    FOUGHT    WITH    A    DOUGHTY    STKANGER 

"  Lord  !  "  quoth  Roger,  wiping  sweat  from  him,  "  yonder 
certes  was  Hob-gob !  Forsooth  ne'er  saw  I  night  the  like 
o'  this  !  How  think  ye  of  yon  devihsh  things  ?  Here  was 
it  one  moment,  and  lo !  in  the  twinkle  of  an  eye  it  is  not. 
How  think  ye,  master?  " 

"  I  do  think  'twas  some  roving  knight." 

"  Nay  but,  lord  —  how  shall  honest  flesh  and  blood  go 
a-vanishing  away  into  thin  air  whiles  a  man  but  blinketh 
an  eye?  " 

"  The  ground  hath  sudden  slope  thereabouts,  belike." 

"  Nay,  yonder  was  some  arch-wizard,  master  —  the 
Man  o'  the  Oak,  or  Hob-gob  himself.  Saint  Cuthbert 
shield  us,  say  I  —  yon  was  for  sure  a  spirit  damned  — " 

"  Hark!  Do  spirits  go  in  steel,  Roger?  "  said  Beltane, 
stooping  for  his  sword;  for  indeed,  plain  and  loud  upon 
the  prevailing  quiet  was  the  ring  and  clash  of  heavy  ar- 
mour, what  time  from  the  bushes  that  clothed  the  steep 
a  tall  figure  strode,  and  the  moon  made  a  glory  in  polished 
shield,  it  gleamed  upon  close-vizored  helm,  it  flashed  upon 
brassart,  vanbrace  and  plastron.  Being  come  near,  the 
grim  and  warlike  figure  halted,  and  leaning  gauntleted 
hand  upon  long  shield,  stood  silent  a  while  seeming  to  stare 
on  Beltane  through  the  narrow  slit  of  his  great  casque. 
But  even  as  he  viewed  Beltane,  so  stared  Beltane  on  him, 
on  the  fineness  of  his  armour,  chain  and  plate  of  the  new 
fashion,  on  his  breadth  of  shoulder  and  length  of  limb  — 
from  shining  casque  to  gleaming  shield,  whereon  was 
neither  charge  nor  blazon;  and  so  at  last,  spake  my  Bel- 
tane, very  gentle  and  courteous : 


402  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Messire,  an  thou  be  come  in  peace,  now  shalt  thou  be 
right  welcome  — " 

"  Peace !  "  quoth  the  knight  loud  and  fierce,  and  his 
laughter  rang  hoarse  within  his  helm.  "  Peace,  forsooth ! 
Thou  art  a  tall  and  seemly  youth,  a  youth  fair  spoken, 
and  yet  —  ha !  A  belt  of  silver !  And  golden  hair !  And 
yet  —  so  very  youthful !  Art  thou  in  very  truth  this 
famous  rogue  whose  desperate  deeds  do  live  on  every 
tongue,  who  hath  waked  Duke  Ivo  from  his  long-time 
security,  insomuch  that  he  doth  yearn  him  for  that 
yellow  head  o'  thine  —  art  thou  Beltane  the  Outlaw  and 
Rebel?" 

"  'Tis  so  men  do  call  me,  messire." 

"  Verily,  youth,  methinks  dost  lie,  for  I  have  heard  this 
outlaw  is  beyond  all  men  wild  and  fierce  and  weaveth  him 
demoniac  spells  and  enchantments  most  accurst,  whereby 
he  maketh  gate  and  door  and  mighty  portcullis  to  ope  and 
yield  before  his  pointed  finger,  and  bolt  and  bar  and 
massy  wall  to  give  him  passage  when  he  will,  as  witness  the 
great  keep  of  Garthlaxton  that  he  did  burn  with  hellish 
fire.  I  have  heard  he  doth  commonly  burn  gibbets  to 
warm  him,  and  beareth  off  great  lords  beneath  his  arm  as 
I  might  a  small  coney  and  slayeth  him  three  or  four  with 
his  every  stroke.  'Tis  said  that  he  doth  wax  daily 
mightier  and  more  fierce,  since  he  doth  drink  hot  blood  and 
batteneth  on  flesh  o'  tender  babes  beneath  the  orbed 
moon  — " 

"  Messire,"  said  Beltane  beginning  to  frown,  "  within 
thy  wild  and  foolish  talk  is  this  much  truth,  that  I,  with 
divers  trusty  comrades,  did  indeed  burn  down  the  shameful 
gallows  of  Belsaye,  and  bore  captive  a  certain  lordly 
knave.     As  for  Garthlaxton,  the  thing  was  simple  — " 

"  O  boastful  boy !  "  quoth  the  knight,  tossing  aside  his 
shield,  "  O  beardless  one,  since  thou  dost  proclaim  thyself 
this  desperate  rogue,  here  is  reason  just  for  some  small 
debate  betwixt  us.  Do  on  thy  coif  forthwith,  for  now 
will  I  strive  to  make  an  end  of  thee,"  and  speaking,  the 
knight  unsheathed  a  long  and  ponderous  sword. 


How  Beltane  Fought  a  Stranger     403 

"  How  an  I  fight  thee  not,  sir  knight?  " 

"  Then  must  I  needs  belabour  thee  to  the  good  of  thy 
soul,  sir  outlaw.     So  on  with  thy  coif,  I  say !  " 

Incontinent  ran  Roger  to  fetch  his  bascinet  the  which 
Beltane  slowly  fitted  on  above  his  hood  of  mail,  and  there- 
after, albeit  unwillingly,  fronted  this  doughty  knight, 
foot  to  foot  and  point  to  point.  Now  stepped  they  a  mo- 
ment about  each  other,  light-treading  for  all  their  weighty 
armour,  and  with  long  blades  advanced ;  then,  of  a  sudden 
they  closed,  and  immediately  the  air  shivered  to  the  ring 
and  grind  of  flashing,  whirling  steel.  To  and  fro,  and  up 
and  down  they  fought  upon  the  level  sward  what  time 
Black  Roger  rubbed  complacent  hands,  grim-smiling  and 
confident;  and  ever  as  they  fought  the  stranger  knight 
laughed  and  gibed,  harsh  and  loud,  from  behind  his  grimly 
casque. 

"  Ho  !  —  fight,  youth,  fight !  "  cried  he,  "  have  done  with 
love-taps !  Sa-ha,  have  at  thee  —  fight,  I  say  !  "  A  pan- 
ther-like side-leap,  a  whirl  of  glimmering  steel,  and  his 
long  blade  smote  sparks  from  Beltane's  bascinet,  whereat 
Roger's  smile,  incontinent,  vanished,  and  his  face  waxed 
suddenly  anxious  and  long. 

But  fierce  and  fiercer  the  stranger  knight  beset  my  Bel- 
tane, the  while  he  lashed  him  with  mocking  tongue : 

"  Call  ye  this  fighting,  sir  youthful  outlaw?  Doth 
thine  arm  fail  thee  so  soon?  Tap  not,  I  say,  lest  I  grow 
angered  and  slay  thee  forthright !  " 

Then,  blow  for  blow,  did  Beltane  the  mighty  fall  on 
right  furiously,  but  ever  blade  met  blade  whiles  Roger 
danced  on  anxious  feet,  praying  for  the  end.  Of  a  sud- 
den, shouted  he  joyously,  for,  flashing  high  in  air,  down 
came  Beltane's  long  blade  strong  and  true  upon  the 
knight's  helm  —  a  fell,  deep-dinting  stroke  that  drave  the 
stranger  reeling  back.  Fierce  and  swift  leapt  Beltane  to 
smite  again  —  came  a  shock  of  clashing  steel,  a  flurry  of 
stroke  and  counter-stroke,  and  thereafter,  a  hoarse  shout 
of  dismay  from  Roger:  for  Beltane  stood  as  one  dazed, 
-staring  upon  his  empty  right  hand  what  time  the  knight 


404  Beltane  the  Smith 

boomed  derisive  laughter  through  his  vizor.  Then  sprang 
grim  Roger,  dagger  aloft,  but  swifter  than  he,  the  knight's 
sword  swung ;  fiat  fell  that  long  blade  on  Roger's  bascinet, 
wielded  by  an  arm  so  strong  that  Roger,  staggering  aside, 
rolled  upon  the  ling,  and  thereafter,  sat  up,  round-ejed 
and  fearful: 

"  O  master !  "  he  panted,  "  here  is  none  of  —  honest 
flesh  and  blood,  'tis  —  Hob-gob  himself,  as  I  did  warn 
thee.  May  Saint  Cuthbert,  Saint  Bede,  Saint  Ed- 
mund — " 

"  Go  to  —  cease  thy  windy  prattling,  Roger  Thick- 
pate  !  "  spake  the  knight,  and  letting  fall  his  sword,  he 
lifted  his  visor.  And  behold!  a  face  lean  and  hawk-like, 
with  eyes  quick  and  bright,  and  a  smiling  mouth  wry- 
twisted  by  reason  of  an  ancient  wound. 

"  Know  ye  me  not,  lord  Beltane?  "  quoth  he,  with  look 
right  loving,  "hast  forgot  me  indeed,  most  loved  lad?" 
But  swift  came  my  Beltane,  glad-eyed  and  with  arms  out- 
flung  in  eager  welcome. 

"Sir  Benedict!"  he  cried,  "hast  come  at  last?  Now 
do  I  joy  to  see  thee !  " 

"My  lord,"  says  Benedict,  wagging  mailed  finger. 
"  Ha,  Beltane,  canst  burn  gibbets,  storm  mighty  castles 
and  out-face  desperate  odds,  yet  is  old  Benedict  thy  mas- 
ter at  stroke  of  sword  still  —  though,  forsooth,  hast 
dinted  me  my  helm,  methinks !  O  sweet  lad,  come  to  my 
arms,  I've  yearned  for  thee  these  many  days."  Herewith 
Sir  Benedict  caught  Beltane  within  his  close  embrace, 
and  patted  him  with  gauntleted  hands,  and  laughed  for 
very  gladness. 

"O  foolish  youth  —  O  youthful  fool!"  quoth  he, 
"  surely  thou  of  all  fools  art  greatest,  a  youthful,  god- 
like fool!  O  mighty  son  of  mighty  father,  how  mighty 
hath  thy  folly  been!  O  lovely  lad  that  hath  attempted 
deeds  impossible,  pitting  thyself  'gainst  Ivo  and  all  his 
might!  Verily,  Beltane,  thou'rt  the  loveliest  fool  that 
ever  man  did  love  — " 

"Nay,  but  dear  messire,"  says  Beltane  as  Sir  Bene- 


How  Beltane  Fought  a  Stranger     405 

diet  stayed  for  breath,  "  pray  thee,  where  is  thy  mean- 
ing? " 

"  Sweet  lad,  I  do  but  strive  to  tell  thee  thou'rt  a  fool, 
yet  so  glad  am  I  of  thy  foolish  company  the  words  do  stick 
somewhat,  but  my  meaning  shall  be  manifest  —  now  mark 
me!  Didst  not  carry  off  the  Red  Pertolepe  'neath  the 
lances  of  his  men-at-arms?  " 

"  Aye,  my  lord." 

"  Didst  not  have  thy  hand  on  the  throat  of  that  cold, 
smiling  rogue  Sir  Gui  of  Allerdale?  " 

"  Verily,  messire." 

"  And  hold  within  thy  grasp  the  life  of  that  foul- 
living  Gilles  of  Brandonmere,  whose  father  I  slew  twelve 
years  agone,  I  thank  God !  " 

"  'Tis  true,  good  Benedict." 

"  And  didst  not  suffer  these  arch-knaves  to  live  on  and 
work  their  pestilent  wills,  Beltane?  " 

"  Sir,  I  did,  but  — " 

"  So  art  thrice  a  fool.  When  we  see  a  foul  and  noxious 
worm,  to  tread  it  under  foot  is  a  virtuous  act.  So  when  a 
man  doth  constant  sin  'gainst  man  and  maid,  to  kill 
him  — " 

Quoth  Beltane : 

"  Sir  Gui  and  Gilles  of  Brandonmere  have  made  an  end 
of  sinning,  methinks." 

"Why  'tis  so  I've  heard  of  late,  Beltane,  and  herein 
is  some  small  comfort ;  but  Red  Pertolepe  is  yet  to  slay  — " 

"  Truly !  "  cried  Beltane,  clenching  his  fists,  "  and  he 
marcheth  on  Winisfarne,  to  burn  and  hang  — " 

"  Content  you,  my  lord  Beltane,  Waldron  of  Brand  lieth 
in  Winisfarne,  and  I  am  here  — " 

"  So  doth  my  heart  rejoice  for  thee,  Benedict,  thou 
right  trusty  and  doughty  friend.  But  how  came  ye 
hither,  and  wherefore?  Methought  thee  yet  in  Thrasford- 
ham!" 

"  Aha,  dear  lad,  so  doth  Ivo  at  this  moment,  I  pray 
God.  A  week  agone  and,  ere  the  investment  was  complete, 
wondrous  news  reached  me  from  Waldron  of  Brand,  whose 


4o6  Beltane  the  Smith 

sire  bore  ray  pennon  in  thy  noble  father's  wars.  And 
because  I  knew  Waldron's  word  is  ever  less  than  his  deed, 
and,  belike,  that  I  grow  weary  of  sieges  (seven  have  I 
withstood  within  these  latter  years)  I,  at  dead  of  night, 
by  devious  and  secret  ways,  stole  forth  of  Thrasfordham 
—  dight  in  this  armour  new-fashioned  (the  which,  mark 
me!  is  more  cumbrous  than  fair  link-mail)  howbeit,  I  got 
me  clear,  and  my  lord  Beltane,  here  stand  I  to  aid  and 
abet  thee  in  all  thy  desperate  affrays,  henceforth.  Aha ! 
methinks  shall  be  great  doings  within  the  greenwood 
anon ! " 

"  Aye,  but  what  of  Thrasfordham  ?  An  Duke  Ivo  be- 
siege it  — " 

"  He  shall  find  five  hundred  and  more  right  doughty 
fellows,  with  Sir  Richard  of  Wark  and  Sir  Brian  of 
Shand  (that  were  armour-bearers  to  thy  knightly  sire) 
to  keep  him  in  play." 

"  And  what  would  ye  here,  Sir  Benedict?  " 

"Fight,  Beltane,  fight!  Methinks  he  shall  lack  noth- 
ing for  hard  smiting  that  rideth  with  thee  —  hey,  boy,  I 
do  yearn  amain  for  the  shock  of  a  charge !  " 

"  My  company  is  but  small,  alas !  "  sighed  Beltane. 

"  'Tis  so  I've  heard,  my  Beltane,"  quoth  Sir  Benedict, 
and  smiling  his  wry  smile,  he  took  a  small  hunting-horn 
that  hung  about  his  neck,  "  let  us  therefore  make  it 
larger  — " 

"How  so  —  how  so,  good  Benedict.? —  Ha!  mean 
you  — " 

"  Watch  now !  " 

So  saying.  Sir  Benedict  set  the  horn  to  his  lip  and  winded 
it  three  times  loud  and  shrill,  and  thereafter  stood  with 
hand  upraised.  And  lo!  upon  the  stillness  a  sound  that 
grew  and  grew  —  a  whisper,  a  rustling  as  of  strong  wind 
in  trees,  and  presently  upon  the  high  banks  to  north  and 
east  and  west  a  great  company  appeared,  horse-men  and 
footmen,  whose  armour  flashed  'neath  the  moon,  while 
high  o'er  bascinet  and  helm  rose  deadly  pike  and  pon- 
derous lance,  rank  upon  rank,  a  very  forest. 


How  Beltane  Fought  a  Stranger     407 

Quoth  Sir  Benedict  loud-voiced,  and  pointing  to  the 
grim  array: 

"  Behold,  lord  Duke,  hither  have  I  brought  thee  five 
hundred  archers  and  pike-men,  with  three  hundred  knights 
and  men-at-arms,  and  each  and  every  a  man  well  tried  and 
chosen,  all  vowed  to  follow  thee  and  smite  in  Pentavalon's 
cause  even  as  I,  their  lord,  that  do  love  thee  for  thy  noble 
father's  sake  and  for  thine  own  sweet  and  knightly 
worth !  " 

So  saying,  Sir  Benedict  fell  upon  his  knee  before  that 
great  assemblage  and  caught  Beltane's  hand  and  kissed  it ; 
whereon,  from  those  gleaming  ranks  rose  a  deep  and  thun- 
derous shout  while  lance  and  spear-head  flashed  again. 

Now  looking  from  this  right  goodly  array  to  the  proud 
and  war-like  figure  that  bent  so  humbly  at  his  feet.  Bel- 
tane's heart  swelled  amain  and  all  things  grew  blurred  and 
misty  in  his  sight. 

"  Sir  Benedict,"  said  he  hoarse-voiced,  "  thou  good  and 
noble  knight  —  O  Benedict,  dear  my  friend,  kneel  not  to 
me.  For  thy  so  great  love,  thy  faith  and  loyalty,  fain 
would  I  thank  thee  —  yet  words  be  so  poor,  and  I  —  O, 
Benedict  — " 

"  Lord,"  said  Benedict,  "  our  camp  lieth  scarce  three 
miles  westward,  come,  I  pray  thee  — " 

"  Nay,  first  come  ye,  friend,  and  look  upon  a  dead  witch 
that  was  indeed  a  noble  woman." 

So  Beltane  brought  Sir  Benedict  where  lay  the  dead 
Jolette,  smiling  yet  as  though  into  the  eyes  of  God.  Now 
beholding  her.  Sir  Benedict  beckoned  Roger  and  bid  him 
summon  certain  of  his  company,  forthwith;  and  when 
Roger  hasted  back  with  divers  awestruck  fellows  at  his 
heels,  they  stood  staring,  amazed  to  behold  these  two  great 
knights  humbly  kneeling  side  by  side  to  pray  for  the  soul 
of  her  who,  all  her  days,  had  been  scorned  of  men  as  the 
witch  Jolette. 


CHAPTER  LV 

HOW    THEY    MARCHED    FOR    WINISEARNE 

At  peep  of  day  the  trumpets  blew,  and  Beltane,  starting 
up  from  slumber,  found  the  great  camp  all  astir  about 
him ;  the  smoke  of  a  hundred  watch-fires  rose  up  into  the 
stilly  air  of  morning  and  made  a  fragrant  mist  amid  the 
trees  beneath  which  armour  glinted  as  guard  relieved 
guard  and  the  new-waked  companies  mustered  under 
arms.  And  ever  as  the  sun  rose  the  bustle  waxed  and 
grew,  with  a  coming  and  going  about  the  fires  where  the 
morning  meal  was  preparing ;  here  a  mighty  furbishing  of 
arms  and  armour,  yonder  a  prodigious  hissing  and  so-ho- 
ing  where  chargers  and  pack-horses  were  picketed,  line 
upon  line  —  goodly  beasts  that  stamped  and  snorted  and 
whinnied  joyously  —  and  everywhere  was  noise  and  cheer 
of  talk  and  laughter;  yet  everywhere  was  method  and  a 
strict  orderliness  in  all  things,  wherefore  Beltane's  very 
heart  sang  within  him. 

Now  as  he  stood  thus,  viewing  all  things  keen-eyed  and 
watchful,  he  was  presently  aware  of  Sir  Benedict  and  Black 
Roger  who  walked  together  within  a  distant  alley;  and 
as  they  passed  them  to  and  fro  Black  Roger  talked  amain, 
what  time  Sir  Benedict  seemed  to  hearken  right  solemn  and 
attentive,  oft  pausing  to  question  him  quick  and  eager, 
and  oft  to  clap  hand  to  Roger's  brawny  back;  and  some- 
times laughed  he  blithe  and  joyous  and  sometimes  heark- 
ened with  grizzled  head  a-droop,  until  a  turn  in  the  glade 
hid  them  from  sight. 

Little  by  little,  above  the  resinous  fragrance  of  the  fires 
rose  other  scents  more  delectable  to  the  nostrils  of  a  hun- 
gry man,  thus,  waking  from  his  meditations  Beltane  turned 
him  wistfully   towards   where,   above  the  nearest   fire,   a 


How  They  Marched  forWinisfarne    409 

goodly  cooking  pot  seethed  and  bubbled  invitingly.  But 
even  now  a  hand  slipped  within  his  arm  and  holding  him 
thus,  Sir  Benedict  viewed  him  joyful-eyed  and  smiled  on 
him  his  wry  and  twisted  smile. 

"  Beltane,"  said  he,  wagging  his  head,  "  O  Beltane,  thou 
wilt  mind  how  upon  a  time  as  I  drank  a  bowl  of  milk  with 
thee  amid  the  green  in  Mortain,  I  did  warn  thee  that  she 
had  red  hair  and  was  like  to  prove  a  spit-fire,  therefore !  " 
Now  hereupon  my  Beltane  must  needs  catch  his  breath 
and  flush  to  the  ears  of  him,  and  therewith  strive  to  look 
at  his  ease,  like  the  very  youth  he  was. 

"  How,  messire,  hath  Roger  babbled  to  thee?  " 
"  Babbled? "  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  shaking  his  head, 
"  nay,  Roger  is  no  babbler  of  secret  matters,  for  many  do 
ken  of  thy  love.  Beltane  —  and  I  am  thy  friend,  so  is  thy 
happiness  my  happiness.  Thus  do  I  say  God  and  the 
sweet  saints  bless  thee  in  thy  love,  dear  lad,  for  a  right 
noble  lady  is  Helen  the  Beautiful  and  meet  to  thine  em- 
bracements.  By  her  so  great  love,  by  her  proved  faithful- 
ness shalt  thou  yet  win  to  happiness  — " 

"  Nay,  dear  my  Benedict,  first  must  Pentavalon  win  to 
peace." 

"  Aye,  by  Helen's  noble  love,  for  — " 
"  O  Sir  Benedict,  I  have  sworn  an  oath !  " 
"  Aye,  sweet  lad,  but  Roger  hath  prayed  a  prayer !  " 
"  Hath  he  told  thee  so  much,  Benedict  ?  " 
"  So  much,"  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  pressing  his  arm,  "  so 
much,  O  man,  that  hereafter  needs  must  I  love  thee  and 
honour  thee  the  more.     Since  man  art  thou,  my  Beltane, 
for  all  thy  so  great  youthfulness." 

"  Nay,  Benedict,  am  none  so  youthful." 
"  Thy  very  speech  doth  prove  thee  so,  yet,  being  boy, 
thou  art  forsooth  a  man  to-day." 
"  And  wherefore?  " 

"  For  that  to-day  I  do  know  more  of  thee.  'Tis  suf- 
fering, 'tis  sorrow  nobly  borne  doth  make  the  man.  Bel- 
tane." 

"  Suffering,  messire  ?  " 


41  o  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Yon  lock  of  hair  showeth  very  white  amid  the  gold, 
Beltane,  but  thou  art  better  man  therefore,  methinks. 
The  fetters  of  thy  dungeon  yet  gleam  upon  thy  wrists, 
Beltane.  But  truly  I  do  think  within  thy  prison  was 
forged  the  sword  shall  avenge  our  woes  and  free  Pentava- 
lon  at  last." 

"  Think  you  indeed,  thou  wise  Benedict,  that  we  by 
grief  and  sorrow  do  rise  to  find  our  nobler  selves  ?  " 

"  Aye  verily !  'Tis  but  by  sorrow  and  suffering  our 
strength  or  weakness  groweth  manifest,  Beltane." 

"  Yet  —  O  Benedict  —  I  did  doubt  her  —  plied  her  with 
scornful  tongue  and  —  drave  her  lonely  from  me  !  " 

"  And  dost  grieve  amain,  and  sorrow  therefore,  O 
youth !  " 

"  Yea,  indeefl,  indeed  —  sleeping  and  waking !  " 

"  And  do  3'earn  to  woo  her  to  forgiveness  on  thy  knees, 
to  crush  her  in  thine  arms  and  kiss  her  breath  away, 
O  Lover?  " 

"  Aye,  dear  Sir  Benedict,  in  such  sort  and  so  greatly 
that  my  passion  oft  doth  fright  me,  so  fiercely  do  I  yearn 
and  long  —  yet  tremble  and  grow  faint  at  thought  of  it !  " 

"  Yet  art  thou  here,  bedight  in  arms,  O  man  —  thy 
yearning  body  far  removed  from  all  temptation  till  thou 
hast  proved  thee  worthy  her  embrace !  And  thus  it  is  I 
know  thee  fpr  a  man,  my  Beltane !  " 

"  And  thoil,  Benedict,  thou  hast  yearned  and  trembled 
with  love  ere  now,  thou  hast  been  a  lover  once,  methinks  ?  " 
But  here  Sir  Benedict  fell  to  silence,  walking  with  face 
averted  and  gaze  bent  towards  the  dewy  grass,  and  quick- 
ened his  steps  until  they  were  come  nigh  unto  the  camp. 
Then  lifted  he  his  head ;  quoth  he : 

"  My  lord  Beltane,  how  think  you  of  this  thy  new-found 
company  ?  " 

"  Men  —  ha !  men,  good  Benedict  —  soldiers  born  and 
bred!" 

"  Forsooth,  and  'neath  mine  own  eye,  Beltane.  There 
is  not  one  but  I  have  watched  him  in  the  stress  of  battle. 
Body  o'  me,  but  I  have  chosen  heedfully,  there  is  none  but 


How  They  Marched  for  Winisfarne    411 

hath  proved  his  worthiness !  See  you  the  Httle  man  yon- 
der, in  half-mail  with  sword  as  great  as  himself  —  he  that 
pipeth  shrill-voiced  as  a  boy?  'Tis  Prat  who  alone  stood 
oif  a  score  what  time  I  lay  wounded  and  pinned  beneath 
my  charger.  Mark  ye  yon  lusty  fellow  beside  him?  'Tis 
Cnut  that,  single-handed,  hewed  him  a  path  through  Ivo's 
battle  and  bare  away  his  own  banner,  the  which  doth  grace 
my  hall  at  Thrasfordham  e'en  now.  And  yonder  is  Dirk 
that  was  a  slave,  yet  fighteth  like  a  paladin.  And  there 
again  is  Siward,  that  with  his  brother  maintained  the  sally- 
port 'gainst  Ivo's  van  what  time  they  drave  us  from  the 
outer  bailey.  And  yonder  Cedric  —  but  so  could  I  name 
them  each  and  every  —  ha !  there  sounds  the  welcome 
tucket !  Come,  let  us  break  our  fast,  and  there  be  many 
knights  and  esquires  and  gentles  of  degree  do  wait  to  pay 
thee  homage." 

So  presently  came  they  into  the  midst  of  the  camp, 
where,  seated  on  the  mossy  ling,  hungry  and  expectant, 
were  many  noble  lords  and  gentle  knights  and  esquires  of 
degree,  who,  beholding  Sir  Benedict  with  Beltane,  rose  up 
with  one  accord.  Young  men  were  these  for  the  most 
part,  yet  were  there  many  grizzled  heads  and  wrinkled 
brows  among  them  —  grim  lords  of  the  old  Duke's  follow- 
ing much  versed  in  war,  calm  of  judgment  and  wise  in 
council ;  but  one  and  all  did  they  stare  upon  my  Beltane 
in  wonder  at  his  youth  because  of  his  so  farirous  deeds. 
Now  spake  to  them  Sir  Benedict,  short  and  soldier-like : 
"  My  lords,  this  is  he  of  whom  ye  all  have  heard,  Beltane 
hight,  son  of  Beltane  our  Duke,  for  whom  we  together 
have  held  Thrasfordham  so  long  and  painfully.  My  lord 
Beltane,  of  all  the  knights  and  nobles  of  the  Duke  thy 
father's  days,  here  do  stand,  sire  or  son,  all  that  have 
withstood  Black  Ivo.  Behold  here  Sir  Bertrand,  that  was 
thy  father's  seneschal  of  Pentavalon  City.  Here,  Sir 
John  of  Griswold  whose  sire  bare  thy  father's  banner, 
wherefore  Griswold  is  ashes  long  since.  Here  Hubert  of 
Erdington,  that  was  thy  father's  marshal-of-the-field. 
Here,  Hacon  of  Trant,  that  was  wont  to  lead  thy  father's 


412  Beltane  the  Smith 

vanward,  and  here,  Sir  Brian  of  Hartismere,  brother  to 
Eric,  called  the  Wry-neck.  So  now,  all's  said,  my  lord, 
wherefore  I  pray,  let  us  eat." 

Forthwith  down  they  sat  together  on  the  grass,  all  and 
sundry,  and  ate  and  drank  and  laughed  and  talked,  inso- 
much that  in  brake  and  thicket  near  and  far  the  birds 
carolled  and  chattered  in  pretty  mockery. 

"  Lord  Beltane,"  quoth  Sir  Benedict  when  the  meal  was 
ended,  "  ere  I  met  thee,  'twas  my  intent  this  hour  to 
march  on  Winisfarne,  according  to  my  promise  to  Wal- 
dron  of  Brand,  how  say  you?  " 

"  Forsooth,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  as  soon  as  ye  will." 

Thus,  within  the  hour,  the  trumpets  brayed  '  to  horse  * 
and  all  was  seeming  hurry  and  confusion ;  yet  a  confusion, 
this,  governed  by  soldierly  method,  so  that,  ere  long, 
horsemen  were  mounted  and  footmen  in  array  what  time 
Beltane,  bedight  in  goodly  vizored  casque,  with  lance  and 
shield  borne  behind  him,  came  where  stood  Sir  Benedict 
beside  a  great  and  noble  war-horse. 

Forthwith  Beltane  mounted,  and  forthwith  from  these 
well-ordered  ranks  a  great  shout  arose: 

"  Beltane  —  the  Duke  —  the  Duke  !  " 

Now,  reining  in  his  eager  beast,  Beltane  looked  upon 
that  stern  array,  and  as  he  looked  his  eye  kindled  and  his 
heart  swelled  within  him. 

"  O  men !  "  said  he,  "  I  that  ye  do  acclaim  am  but  a  man 
even  as  ye  are  men,  to  bear  with  ye  the  heat  and  labour 
of  t\\e  day.  What  ye  must  endure  that  will  I  endure  with 
you.  Here  stand  I,  ready  to  spill  my  blood  that  Wrong 
may  cease.  Even  as  ye,  I  am  prepared  to  adventure  me, 
life  and  limb,  that  Lust  and  Murder  may  cease  to  be  and 
Innocence  and  Truth  may  walk  again  all  unashamed.  S.o 
shall  I  lead  ye  into  battles  and  affrays  desperate  and 
bloody,  where  foes  shall  be  a-many  and  we,  few.  But  we 
do  fight  for  hearth  and  home,  and  the  thought  of  this, 
methinks,  shall  nerve  us  strong  as  giants.  Yet  is  our  way 
a  perilous  way,  and  some  of  us,  belike,  must  die.  But, 
by  the  blood  of  such,  this  our  country  is  hallowed  unto 


How  They  Marched  forWinisfarne    413 

those  that  shall  come  after*  us,  so  shall  our  memories  teach 
others  how  to  die  —  and  better  —  how  to  live  that  this 
our  country  may  stand,  hereafter,  for  all  things  great  and 
noble.  He  that  dieth  for  home  and  children  shall,  may- 
hap, from  the  floor  of  heaven,  look  down  upon  a  great 
and  happy  people  whose  freedom  he  —  by  weary  marches, 
by  pain  of  wounds,  by  sharp  and  sudden  death  —  he  him- 
self hath  helped  to  purchase,  and,  in  their  peace  and  hap- 
piness, find  an  added  joy. 

"  O  men!  who  would  not  be  a  man  to  fight  in  such  just 
cause?  Who  would  not  cherish  life  that  he  might  lose  it 
to  such  noble  purpose? 

"  Now  theref orfe,  all  ye  that  do  love  Pentavalon  —  fol- 
low!" 

Thus  saying,  my  Beltane  wheeled  his  horse;  and  with 
rhythmic  ring  and  clash,  together,  rank  on  rank,  horse- 
men and  footmen,  they  followed  hard  behind,  a  silent,  grim 
array,  with  eyes  that  gleamed  'neath  helm  and  bascinet, 
and  purposeful  hands  that  griped  full  strong  on  lance 
and  spear-shaft,  as,  coming  to  the  forest-road,  they 
swung  away  northwards  towards  Winisfarne. 


CHAPTER  LVI 

"WHAT    THEY    FOUND    AT    "WINISFARNE 

Tvro  and  two  they  rode  —  for  the  way  was  oft-times  nar- 
row—  their  flanks  well  covered  by  light-armed  archers 
who  marched  within  the  green,  with  mounted  archers  far  in 
their  van  and  others  in  their  rear. 

A  glory  of  sun  dappled  their  way  with  dancing  shadows, 
flowers  were  a-bloom  in  bank  and  hedgerow,  and  birds 
carolled  blithe  in  the  fragrant  air,  what  tune  Sir  Benedict 
rode  beside  Beltane,  his  ponderous  casque  a-swing  at  sad- 
dle-bow; and  oft  he  turned  his  grizzled  head  to  view  my 
thoughtful  Beltane  as  one  might  look  upon  a  son,  new- 
found. 

Now  in  a  while  Beltane  turned  and  meeting  his  look 
reached  out  to  him  his  hand, 

"  Dear  Benedict,"  said  he,  "  how  much  —  how  very 
much  I  owe  to  thee.  Thou  art  methinks  the  greatest 
knight  that  e'er  couched  lance  — " 

"  Save  thy  noble  father !  "  quoth  Sir  Benedict  with  sol- 
emn nod.  i||^ 

"  My  father  —  you-  were  his  esquire  and  much-loved 
comrade,  Benedict?  " 

"  I  was,  Beltane." 

"  Knew  you  my  mother  well,  also  ?  " 

"  Thy  mother  ?  Why  —  aye,  forsooth,  I  —  knew  thy 
mother  —  very  well,  Beltane." 

"  What  manner  of  woman  was  she,  I  pray?  " 

"  The  fairest  and  noblest  these  eyes  have  e'er  beheld !  " 

"The  — noblest?" 

"  And  purest !  Hark  ye.  Beltane,  and  mark  me  well  — ■ 
there  ne'er  lived  wife  of  so  stainless  honour  as  the  noble 
woman  that  bare  thee !  " 


what  They  Found  at  Winisfarne    415 

"  And  yet,'*  sighed  Beltane,  with  wrinkled  brow, 
"  within  the  garden  of  Pentavalon  —  my  father  — " 

"  Thy  father  was  a  sick  man,  faint  with  wounds  and 
spent  with  hardship.  All  that  day,  as  we  rode  unto 
Pentavalon  City,  he  and  I,  his  mind  oft  wandered  and  he 
held  wild  talk  in  his  fever.  But  hale  Avas  I,  mind  and 
body,  and  I  do  know  the  Duke  thy  father  fell  to  strange 
and  sudden  madness  upon  that  dreadful  day,  whereby 
came  woe  to  Pentavalon,  and  bitter  remorse  to  him.  This 
do  I  swear,  thy  mother  was  noble  wife  and  saintly 
woman !  " 

"  Loved  she  my  father?  " 

"  Aye,  verily  —  she  was  his  wife !  Thy  father  was  a 
noble  knight  and  peerless.  —  and  oft  warring  on  the 
niarches,  but  methinks  —  she  was  something  lonely  —  at 
times.  Beltane." 

"  Alas  !  "  sighed  Beltane,  and  again  "  Alas  !  "  So  fell 
they  incontinent  to  deep  thought  and  rode  full  long  in 
silence.  But  ever  and  anon  as  they  paced  along  together 
thus,  Sir  Benedict  must  needs  lift  his  head  to  gaze  upon 
my  Beltane,  and  his  grim  lips  curved  to  smile  infinite  ten- 
der, and  in  his  eyes  was  growing  wonder. 

Quoth  he  at  last : 

"  Beltane,  d'ye  mark  this  our  silent  company,  not  a 
stave  have  they  carolled  since  we  set  forth  !  But  how  shall 
a  man  sing  and  jest  whose  heart  is  set  on  great  emprise -f* 
Verily  thy  words  have  fired  e'en  this  shrivelled  heart  o* 
mine  till  I,  even  as  they,  methinks,  do  burn  to  fight  Pen- 
tavalon's  cause,  to  shield  her  from  woeful  shame  and  — 
ha  !  —  such  vile  sights  as  yon !  " 

Now  looking  where  Sir  Benedict  pointed.  Beltane  beheld 
a  thin^,  crookedly  contorted,  a-dangle  from  a  knotted 
branch  that  jutted  athwart  the  way,  insomuch  that  the 
must  needs  stoop,  cowering  in  his  saddle,  lest  he  touch  the 
twisted  feet  of  it. 

"  Dead  three  days  I  judge ! "  mused  Sir  Benedict. 
"  Much  is  possible  to  the  Red  Pertolepe  in  three  days. 
And  he  hath  a  great  and  powerful  following,  'tis  said !  " 


41 6  Beltane  the  Smith 

Quoth  Beltane,  pale-cheeked  and  frowning  a  little: 

"  So  would  I  have  it,  Benedict  —  they  shall  be  the  more 
for  us  to  smite !  " 

"  I've  heard  he  musters  full  three  thousand.  Bel- 
tane." 

"What  then,  good  Benedict?  Yon  poor,  dead  thing 
we  passed  but  now  was  worth  a  score  of  men  to  us  —  and 
there  will  be  others  —  Sir  Pertolepe  loveth  to  see  men 
hang!  So  perchance,  ere  we  come  to  Winisfarne,  the 
strength  of  thousands  shall  lie  within  these  arms  of 
ours." 

"  'Tis  a  fair  thought,  lad  —  aye,  'tis  a  right  fair 
thought!  May  all  the  poor  souls  done  thus  to  sudden, 
cruel  death,  march  within  our  slender  ranks  and  smite 
with  us,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  henceforth !  " 

And  now  as  they  went,  came  they  on  many  and  divers 
signs  of  the  Red  Pertolepe's  passing;  here  a  smouldering 
heap  of  ruin  whereby  lay  pale,  stiff  shapes  half  hidden  in 
the  grass  —  yonder  a  little  child  outstretched  as  though 
asleep,  save  for  wide  eyes  that  looked  so  blindly  on  the 
sun:  and  there,  beyond,  upon  the  white  dust  of  the  road, 
great  gouts  and  pools  that  had  trickled  from  something 
sprawled  among  the  underbrush. 

And  the  soft  wind  crooned  and  whispered  in  the  leaves 
—  leaves  that  parting,  showed  other  shapes  swung  high  in 
air,  whose  pallid  faces  looked  down  on  them,  awful-eyed, 
from  the  tender  green,  faces  drawn  and  haggard,  with 
teeth  agleam  or  open  mouths  whence  screams  had  come, 
but  very  silent  now  until  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

So  rode  they,  with  death  above  them  and  around,  death 
in  many  hateful  shapes;  and  oft  Sir  Benedict  bowed  his 
head  as  one  that  prayed,  the  while  his  strong  hands  knit 
themselves  to  iron  fists;  and  oft  from  those  grim  ranks 
behind  a  sound  went  up  to  heaven,  a  sound  ominous  and 
low,  that  was  like  unto  a  moan. 

Thus  marched  they,  through  heat  and  dust,  through 
cool,  green  shadow,  splashing  through  noisy  brook  and 
shallow  ford,  until,  as  the  sun  reached  the  zenith,  they 


what  They  Found  at  Winisfarne    417 

came  to  the  brow  of  a  hill  and  saw  afar  the  walls  and  roofs 
of  the  prosperous  town  of  Winisfarne. 

And  ever  as  they  drew  nearer,  Sir  Benedict  stared  on 
it,  his  black  brows  close-knit,  and  fingered  his  square  chin 
as  one  puzzled. 

"  Beltane,"  quoth  he  at  last,  "  'tis  full  ten  years  since 
I  saw  Winisfarne,  and  yet  —  meseemeth  —  it  looked  not 
so !     'Tis  as  though  I  missed  somewhat,  and  yet  — " 

But  now  came  Roger,  a  dusty  figure,  spurring  from  the 
rear : 

"  Master,"  he  cried,  pointing  with  eager  finger,  "  O 
master,  the  keep  —  where  is  the  great  keep  that  stood 
yonder.''  " 

"  Aye,  verily  —  the  keep !  "  nodded  Sir  Benedict,  clap- 
ping mailed  hand  to  thigh,  "  and  'twas  a  great  and  mighty 
hold  as  I  do  mind  me !  " 

Now  looked  they  gloomily  on  each  other  and  halted 
their  array  what  time  Sir  Benedict  passed  word  for  bows 
to  be  strung  and  every  eye  and  every  ear  to  be  strained 
right  heedfully ;  then  moved  they  on  again. 

Betimes  they  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  for  de- 
fences it  had  none,  but  no  man  moved  therein  and  no 
sound  reached  them  but  the  noise  of  their  own  going. 
Thus,  in  a  while,  with  hands  tight-clenched  and  lips  firm- 
set  they  rode  into  the  desolation  of  the  market-place  be- 
fouled by  signs  of  battle  fierce  and  fell,  while  beyond,  a 
mass  of  charred  ruin,  lay  all  that  was  left  of  Winisfarne's 
once  great  and  famous  keep. 

Now  above  this  ruin  divers  gibbets  had  been  set  up,  and 
behold!  these  gibbets  each  bore  a  heavy  burden.  Then 
Beltane  lighted  from  his  horse,  and  going  apart,  laid  by 
his  casque  and  sat  him  down,  his  head  bowed  betwixt  his 
hands  as  one  that  is  direly  sick.  In  a  while  as  he  sat 
thus,  heedless  of  all  things,  cometh  Roger. 

"  Master,"  said  he,  "  saw  ye  the  gibbets  yonder?  " 

"  I  saw  them,  Roger." 

"  Upon  those  gibbets  be  divers  of  our  good  fellows, 
master.     There  is  Diccon  and  Peter  of  my  compan}^  of 


4i8 


Beltane  the  Smith 


pikes,  and  Gregory  that  was  a  fair  good  bowman,  and 
there  be  others  also  —  and  master,  these  be  not  hanged 
men !  " 

"Not  hanged — ?" 

"  No,  master !  All  these  our  men  died  in  battle,  as  their 
wounds  do  testify  —  they  were  dead  men  already  when 
Pertolepe  hanged  them  on  his  gibbets.  And  Walkyn  is 
not  here,  wherefore,  methinks,  he  liveth  yet.  And  Perto- 
lepe is  not  here,  yet  where  Pertolepe  is,  there  shall  we 
surely  find  Walkyn,  for  Walkyn  hath  sworn  full  oft  — 
ha !  master  —  master,  behold  what  cometh  here  —  see, 
yonder !  " 

Then  Beltane  arose,  and  looking  where  Roger  pointed, 
beheld  a  strange,  misshapen  thing,  half  beast,  half  man, 
that  ran  wondrous  fleetly  towards  them,  and,  as  it  ran, 
flourished  aloft  a  broken  sword;  now  was  he  lost  to  sight 
behind  some  bush  or  quick-set,  now  he  bounded  high  over 
stream  or  stone  or  fallen  tree  —  nought  was  there  could 
let  or  stay  him  —  until  he  came  where  stood  Sir  Bene- 
dict's outposts,  to  whose  conduct  he  yielded  him  forthwith 
and  so  was  presently  brought  into  the  market-square. 

A  wild  figure  this,  great  and  hairy  of  head  and  with  the 
arms  and  shoulders  of  a  very  giant;  bedight  was  he  in 
good  link-mail,  yet  foul  with  dirt  and  mire  and  spattered 
with  blood  from  heel  to  head,  and  in  one  great  hand  he 
griped  still  the  fragment  of  a  reddened  sword.  All 
a-sweat  was  he,  and  bleeding  from  the  hair,  while  his 
mighty  chest  heaved  and  laboured  with  his  running. 

So  stood  he  betwixt  his  brawny  captors  what  time  he 
panted  hoarse  and  loud,  and  stared  about  him  fierce-eyed 
'neath  beetling  brows.  Thus,  of  a  sudden  he  espied  my 
Beltane  standing  bare-headed  in  his  youthful  might, 
whereon  this  monstrous  man  forthwith  dashed  aside  his 
stalwart  guards  as  they  had  been  babes,  and  ran  towards 
Beltane  with  hairy  hands  outstretched,  whereon  sprang 
Roger  to  front  him,  dagger  a-gleam ;  but  lo !  Roger  was 
caught  up   in  those  mighty   arms   and   shaken  helplessly. 

"  Fool !  "   cried  this  grim   fellow,  "  think  ye  I  would 


what  They  Found  at  Winisfarne    419 

harm  Beltane  that  is  my  most  loved  lord  henceforth?  I 
am  Ulf,  called  the  Strong,  and,  as  this  my  hateful  body  is 
strong,  so  is  my  love  —  lie  there !  "  So  saying,  Ulf  laid 
Roger  upon  his  back,  and  coming  to  Beltane,  fell  upon  his 
face  before  him  and  caught  his  mailed  feet  and  kissed 
them. 

"  Lord  Beltane,"  he  cried,  harsh-voiced,  "  thou  seest  I 
do  love  thee  —  yet  'twas  I  did  bear  thee  captive  to  thy  foe 
by  command  of  one  I  love  beyond  all  others.  But  thou, 
lord  Beltane,  thou  at  peril  of  thy  life  did  save  her  from 
shame  and  fiery  death  when  Ulf  could  not  —  so  do  I  love 
thee,  lord  Beltane,  and  will  be  thy  slave  henceforth,  to  love 
and  serve  thee  till  I  die  —  an  thou  wilt  take  me.  Mis- 
shapen and  unlovely  ye  behold  me  —  a  vile  thing  that  men 
would  jeer  at  but  that  they  fear  to  die,  for  God  who 
hath  denied  me  all  else,  hath  given  me  strength  beyond  all 
men.  Yet  do  I  hate  myself  and  do  hide  me  from  the  eyes 
of  my  fellows:  but,  an  thou  canst  bear  with  me,  canst 
suffer  me  beside  thee  and  be  not  ashamed  of  my  unlove- 
liness,  then  will  I  front  all  eyes  right  boldly.  Now  lord, 
an  thou  wilt  take  Ulf  for  thy  man,  reach  down  to  me  thy 
hand." 

Then  Beltane  reached  down  and  took  Ulf's  hairy  hand 
in  his. 

"  Ulf,"  said  he,  "  thou  that  God  hath  blessed  with  such 
noble  strength,  methinks  'neath  thy  grim  shape  thy  heart 
is  noble  also,  and  thy  soul,  mayhap,  straight  and  lovely. 
So  will  I  make  thee  brother  in  arms  to  my  faithful  Roger, 
that  ye  two  shall  ride  ever  near  me  when  the  battle  joins." 

Now  Ulf  the  strong  stood  up  erect  upon  his  feet,  and  on 
his  swart  cheeks  great  tears  rolled,  glistening. 

"  Lord !  "  said  he,  "  O  Beltane,  my  lord  and  master  — " 
and  bowed  grim  head  with  sudden  sob,  whereat  Beltane 
questioned  him  full  hastily,  as  thus: 

"  Art  wounded,  Ulf !  And  whence  come  ye  in  such 
guise  ?  " 

"  Lord,"  says  Ulf,  wiping  off  his  tears  and  choking  upon 
a  sob,  "  I  came  through  Bloody  Pertolepe's  array." 


42 o  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Through  ?  —  nay,  how  mean  you  ?  "  questioned  Bel- 
tane, the  while  Sir  Benedict  and  many  wondering  knights 
and  esquires  pressed  round  them  in  a  ring. 

"  I  mean  through,  lord,  for  Walkyn's  need  is  dire. 
So  burst  I  through  them  —  I  had  an  axe  but  it  brake  in 
my  hold,  see  you,  even  as  this  my  sword  —  alack,  there  is 
no  weapon  that  I  do  not  break !  Howbeit  here  am  I,  lord, 
hither  come  with  word  for  one  Sir  Benedict  of  Bourne  that 
did  covenant  to  meet  with  Walkyn  here  at  Winisfame !  " 

"  Behold  us  here  —  speak  on !  "  quoth  Sir  Benedict. 

"  Thus,  then,  saith  Walkyn  o'  the  Dene :  That  scarce 
had  he  stormed  and  set  fire  to  yonder  prison-keep,  than 
from  the  south  cometh  a  great  company,  the  which  he  at 
the  first  did  take  for  ye.  But,  in  a  while,  behold  Sir 
Pertolepe's  accursed  Raven  banner,  the  which  giveth 
Walkyn  much  to  think.  Now  cometh  to  him  one  beyond 
all  women  noble  and  gracious  and  holy  (as  I  do  know) 
the  fair  and  stately  Abbess  Veronica,  who,  years  agone, 
did  build  and  endow  yon  great  and  goodly  abbey,  wherein 
all  poor  desolate  souls  should  be  cherished  and  comforted 
by  her  and  her  saintly  nuns,  and  where  the  stricken  fugi- 
tive might  find  sanctuary  and  peace  and  moreover  be 
healed  of  his  hurts.  (All  this  know  I  since  I  was  fugitive, 
hurt  and  very  woeful  and  found  me  solace  there.)  So 
cometh  this  noble  lady  to  Walkyn  (and  with  her,  I)  and 
speaketh  him  calm  and  sweetly,  thus :  '  Yonder  rideth 
Sir  Pertolepe  that  is  knight  of  noble  birth,  yet  the  rather 
would  I  trust  myself  and  these  my  good  sisters  in  thy 
hands,  O  man !  So  do  I  pray  thee  when  thou  goest  hence, 
yield  us  the  protection  of  thy  strength,  so  shall  heaven 
bless  thee ! '  Hereon  Walkyn  frowned  and  plucked  his 
beard  awhile,  but  thereafter,  came  he  to  kneel  and  kiss 
her  hand  and  swear  to  aid  her  the  while  life  him  lasted. 
Then  summoned  he  his  company  (lusty  fellows  all)  and 
called  for  thirty  men  that  would  remain  to  hold  Red  Per- 
tolepe in  play  what  time  he  seeketh  place  of  greater  van- 
tage well  beknown  to  him.  Forthwith  stood  out  one 
Tall  Orson  hight  (a  doughty  fellow)  and  with  him  nine 


what  They  Found  at  Winisfarne    421 

and  twenty  other  lusty  fellows,  right  willing  (and  with 
them,  I)  and  thereafter  Walkyn  formeth  his  company 
(the  nuns  in  the  midst)  and  marched  in  haste  for  Brand 
that  is  a  lonely  tower.  Then  did  these  thirty  (and  Avith 
them  I)  shoot  arrows  amain  on  Pertolepe's  vanguard 
from  every  place  of  vantage  hereabouts,  and  met  them 
with  right  lusty  hand-strokes  and  stayed  thus  their  ad- 
vance until  of  the  thirty  there  none  remained  alive  save 
seven  (and  of  these,  I).  And,  since  we  could  do  no  more, 
I  (that  do  know  this  country  from  my  misshapen  youth) 
brought  these  men  by  secret  ways  unto  the  Tower  of 
Brand  that  is  desolate  and  a  ruin,  yet  strong  withal.  And 
there  lay  Walkyn  (that  is  a  notable  fighter)  keeping 
watch  and  ward  within  the  tower  what  time  he  waited  thy 
succour.  Now  who  so  skilful  and  tender  with  our  wounded 
as  this  sweet  and  gracious  lady  Abbess!  Next  day,  sure 
enough,  cometh  Pertolepe  with  brave  show  of  horse  and 
foot  (above  three  thousand,  lords)  and  straightway  send- 
eth  he  a  haughty  fellow  to  demand  incontinent  surrender 
—  a  loud-voiced  knight  whom  Walkyn  forthwith  shot 
and  slew  with  his  own  hand.  Whereat  Sir  Pertolepe 
waxed  exceeding  wroth  and  came  on  amain  and  beset  the 
tower  on  all  sides,  whereby  they  lost  others  of  their  men, 
for  Walkyn's  fellows  shot  exceeding  strong  and  true  (and 
with  them,  I).  Then,  O  my  lords,  in  all  that  fierce  debate, 
who  so  brave  and  calm,  heartening  wearied  and  wounded 
with  gentle  voice  and  gentler  hand,  than  this  same  noble 
lady  Abbess !  For  two  days  lay  we  besieged  whereby  our 
food  and  drink  began  to  fail  (for  the  well  within  the  tower 
is  well-nigh  dried  up)  yet  none  did  eat  or  drink  so  spar- 
ingly as  this  same  holy  Abbess.  Now  on  this  (the  second 
day,  lords)  cometh  Pertolepe  himself  (under  flag  of  truce, 
lords)  and  demands  we  yield  to  him  the  body  of  this  same 
lady  Abbess  (to  our  ransom)  swearing  on  his  knightly 
word  he  then  will  march  away  forthwith,  and  seek  our  hurt 
no  more.  And,  to  save  our  lives,  fain  would  this  brave 
lady  have  yielded  her  to  Pertolepe's  hands.  But  Walkyn 
(mindful  of  his  oath,  lords),  leaning  him  from  the  battle- 


42  2  Beltane  the  Smith 

ment,  spake  Red  Pertolepe  defiantly,  calling  him  knave 
and  liar,  and  therewith  spat  upon  him,  very  fairly. 
Whereat  Pertolepe  sware  to  hang  us  one  and  all  and  the 
battle  joined  again  fiercer  than  before.  Therefore,  on 
this  the  third  day,  seeing  no  hope  of  succour,  Walkyn 
made  him  ready  to  sally  out  (a  right  desperate  venture 
because  of  the  women).  Then  spake  I  before  them  all, 
saying  I  doubted  not  I  might  win  through,  and  bring 
thee  to  their  aid  (an  ye  had  kept  the  tryst)  would  they  but 
ply  their  shafts  amain  to  cover  me.  The  which  was  so 
agreed.  Then  did  this  saintly  lady  Abbess  set  her  white 
hand  on  this  my  hateful  head  and  prayed  the  sweet  Christ 
to  shield  this  my  monstrous  body,  and  I  thereafter  be- 
ing bedight  in  right  good  mail  (as  thou  seest)  issued  sud- 
denly out  of  the  tower  whiles  our  foemen  sat  at  meat,  and 
ran  among  them  roaring  dreadfully  and  smote  amain  full 
many  until  my  axe  brake  and  I  betook  me  to  my  sword 
and  smote  them  as  I  ran  what  time  Walkyn's  archers 
shot  right  furiously  and  well.  Thus  came  I  through 
Bloody  Pertolepe's  array,  and  thus,  lords,  ye  do  behold  a 
something  weary  man  and  a  mighty  hungry  one  withal !  " 

Now  came  Sir  Benedict  to  grasp  Ulf's  great  hand. 

"  Forsooth,  hast  done  a  great  and  noble  thing!  "  quoth 
he.  "  Thy  twisted  body  doth  hide  a  great  and  manly  soul, 
meseemeth,  so  ne'er  shalt  lack  for  friend  whiles  Benedict 
doth  live !  " 

And  after  Sir  Benedict  came  many  other  knights  and 
esquires  of  degree,  to  bring  him  of  their  own  viands  and 
press  upon  him  rich  and  goodly  wine.  In  so  much  that 
Ulf  grew  hot  and  awkward,  and  presently  stole  away  to 
eat  with  Roger  in  a  quiet  comer. 

But  now  within  the  market-place  was  sound  of  song, 
of  jest  and  laughter,  where  bow-strings  were  looked  to 
heedfully,  sword-belts  buckled  tighter,  mail-coifs  laced  the 
closer,  stirrup-chain  and  saddle-girth  carefully  regarded, 
whiles  ever  and  anon  all  eyes  turned  where  Beltane  sat 
among  the  older  knights.  Sir  Benedict  beside  him,  heark- 
ening to  their  counsel.     And  presently  he  rose  and  lifted 


what  They  Found  at  Winisfarne    423 

his  hand,  whereat  the  trumpets  blared  and,  thereafter,  with 
ring  of  hoof  and  tramp  of  foot,  marched  they  forth  of 
Winisfarne,  the  sun  bright  on  helm  and  shield,  a  right 
gallant  array. 

And  at  their  head  rode  Ulf  the  Strong;. 


CHAPTER  LVII 

TELLETH    OF    THE    ONFALL    AT    BEAND 

By  wild  and  lonely  ways  Ulf  led  them,  through  mazy 
thicket,  o'er  murmurous  rill,  through  fragrant  bracken 
that,  sweeping  to  their  saddle-girths,  whispered  as  they 
passed ;  now  rode  they  by  darkling  wood,  now  crossed  they 
open  heath;  all  unerring  rode  Ulf  the  Strong,  now  wheel- 
ing sharp  and  sudden  to  skirt  treacherous  marsh  or 
swamp,  now  plunging  into  the  gloom  of  desolate  woods, 
on  and  on  past  lonely  pools  where  doleful  curlews  piped, 
nor  faltered  he  nor  stayed  until,  as  the  sun  grew  low, 
they  climbed  a  sloping  upland  crowned  by  mighty  trees 
and  thick  with  underbrush;  here  Ulf  checked  his  horse 
and  lifted  long  arm  in  warning,  whereon  the  company 
halted,  hard-breathing,  yet  very  orderly  and  silent. 

Forthwith  down  lighted  Beltane  with  Sir  Benedict  and 
Ulf  who  pointed  before  them  with  his  finger. 

"  Lords,"  said  he,  "  beyond  yon  trees  is  a  valley  and  in 
the  valley  the  tower  of  Brand,  the  which  you  may  see  from 
the  brush  yonder  —  aha !  and  hear  also,  methinks !  " 

And  indeed  the  air  was  full  of  a  strange  droning  sound 
that  rose  and  fell  unceasing,  a  drowsy,  ominous  hum. 

"  Ah,  Benedict,"  said  Beltane,  frowning  a  little,  "  I  like 
not  that  sound !  Summon  we  our  wisest  heads,  for  here  is 
matter  for  thought  and  sudden  action  methinks ! " 

Hereupon  Sir  Benedict  beckoned  to  his  five  chiefest 
knights  and  they  together  followed  Ulf's  broad  back  up 
the  slope  until  they  were  come  within  the  little  wood ;  and 
ever  as  they  advanced  the  strange  hum  grew  louder, 
hoarser  —  a  distant  roar,  pierced,  ever  and  anon,  by 
sharper  sound,  a  confused  din  that  was  the  voice  of  des- 
perate conflict.     Presently  Ulf  brought  them  to  the  edge 


Telleth  of  the  Onfall  at  Brand      425 

of  the  little  wood  and,  parting  twig  and  leaf,  they  looked 
forth  and  down.     And  what  they  saw  was  this: 

A  little  valley,  wondrous  green  but  very  desolate-seem- 
ing, for  here  and  there  stood  iniined  walls  and  charred 
timbers  that  once  had  been  fair  dwellings;  and  in  the 
midst  of  this  small  and  ruined  hamlet,  a  mighty  tower 
uprose,  hoary  and  weather-beaten,  yet  stark  and  grim 
against  the  sunset.  All  about  this  tower  a  great  camp 
lay,  set  well  out  of  bow-shot,  and  'twixt  camp  and  tower 
were  many  men  whose  armour  flashed,  rank  on  rank,  and 
archers  who,  kneeling  behind  mantlets,  shot  amain  at  bat- 
tlement and  loophole.  Against  the  tower  were  two  great 
ladders,  roughly  fashioned  and  a-swarm  with  men ;  but 
ever  as  they  strove  to  reach  the  battlement  a  mighty  axe 
whirled  and  swung  and  a  long  sword  flashed,  and  ever 
as  they  fell,  so  fell  one  of  the  besiegers. 

"There  stand  Walkyn  and  Tall  Orson!"  quoth  Ulf, 
biting  his  nails.  "  Ha !  —  they  be  dour  fighters  —  would 
I  stood  with  them !  " 

"  We  come  in  due  season,  methinks !  "  said  Sir  Benedict, 
stroking  his  square  chin,  "  what  is  your  counsel,  my 
lords?" 

Quoth  young  Sir  John  of  Griswold: 

"  Let  us  to  horse  and  sally  out  on  them,  the  hill  is  with 
us  and  we  shall  — " 

"  Slay  and  be  slain !  "  quoth  Sir  Benedict. 

"  Verily !  "  nodded  grim  Sir  Bertrand,  "  dost  speak 
like  a  very  youth,  John !  " 

"  Here,  methinks,"  said  Sir  Benedict,  "  is  work  for  pike 
and  bow-string.  First  break  we  their  charge,  then  down 
on  them  in  flank  with  shock  and  might  of  all  our  lances." 

"  Ha !  'tis  well  be-thought,  Benedict !  "  growled  old  Hu- 
bert of  Erdington,  "  so  let  me  march  with  the  pikes." 

"  Art  silent,  lord  Beltane,"  quoth  Sir  Hacon,  "  dost 
agree  ?  " 

"  Aye,  truly,"  answered  Beltane,  rising,  "  but  let  our 
pikes  march  in  V  formation,  our  mightiest  men  at  the 
point  of  the  V,  and  with  archers  behind.     Then,  ere  the 


426  Beltane  the  Smith 

foe  do  engage,  let  the  V  become  an  L,  so  shall  we  oppose 
them  two  faces.  Now,  when  Sir  Pertolepe's  chivalry 
charge,  let  Sir  Benedict  with  two  hundred  knights  and 
men-at-arms  spur  in  upon  their  flank,  driving  them  con- 
fused upon  their  main  battle,  what  time  I,  yet  hid  within 
the  green,  will  sound  my  rallying  note  that  Walkyn  know- 
eth  of  old,  whereat  he  shall  sally  out  upon  their  further 
flank.  Then  will  I,  with  my  hundred  horse,  charge  down 
upon  their  rear,  so  should  we  have  them,  methinks.''  How 
say  you,  my  lords  ?  " 

"  Truly,"  quoth  Sir  Bertrand,  closing  his  vizor,  "  thy 
father  liveth  again  in  thee,  methinks !  " 

Forthwith,  pikemen  and  archers  fell  into  array  with 
Cnut  at  their  head,  while  behind  the  spreading  ranks  of 
pikes  Prat  and  his  archers  were  ranged,  bows  strung  and 
quivers  slung  before ;  and  presently,  at  Beltane's  word, 
they  swung  forth  of  the  sheltering  green,  fierce-eyed,  grim- 
lipped,  bascinct  and  pike-head  a-twinkle.  Away  they 
swung  down  the  slope,  a  stalwart  company  swift-treading 
and  light,  and  in  their  midst  old  Hubert  of  Erdington  in 
his  heavy  armour,  whose  long  sword  flashed  as  he  flour- 
ished his  farewell. 

With  rhythmic  step  and  swing  of  broad  mailed  shoulders 
they  marched  until  they  were  come  down  into  the  valley. 
And  now,  as  they  advanced  swift  and  steady,  rose  shouts 
from  besieged  and  besiegers ;  Sir  Pertolepe's  trumpets 
brayed  defiance  and  alarm,  and  of  a  sudden,  forth  of  his 
camp  mailed  horsemen  rode  rank  upon  rank,  pennons 
a-flutter  and  armour  flashing  in  the  sunset  glare.  But, 
as  they  mustered  to  the  charge,  as  shields  flashed  and 
lances  sank.  Sir  Benedict's  pikemen  wheeled,  their  ranks 
swung  wide,  and  lo !  the  V  was  become  an  L.  Now  from 
this  L  bows  twanged  and  arrows  flew  amain  above  the 
kneeling  pikemen,  what  time  Sir  Pertolepe's  trumpets 
blared  the  charge,  and  down  upon  those  slender  ranks  his 
heavy-armed  chivalry  thundered;  horses  reared  and  fell, 
screaming,  beneath  the  whistling  arrow-shower,  but  on 
swept  the  charge ;  those  thin  ranks  bent  and  swayed  'neath 


Telleth  of  the  Onfall  at  Brand      427 

the  shock  as  lance  crossed  pike,  but  these  pike-butts 
rested  on  firm  ground  and  upon  their  deadly  points, 
horses,  smitten  low,  reared  transfixed,  and  above  these 
rocking  pikes  steel  flashed  and  flickered  where  the  stout 
archers  plied  their  heavy  broadswords,  while,  loud  above 
the  din.  Sir  Hubert's  voice  boomed  hoarse  encouragement 
what  time  he  thrust  and  smote  above  the  kneeling  pike- 
men. 

Now  out  from  the  green  Sir  Benedict  paced  astride  his 
great  black  charger,  and  behind  him  his  two  hundred 
steel-girt  knights  and  men-at-arms,  their  vizors  closed, 
their  shields  slung  before,  the  points  of  their  long  and 
ponderous  lances  agleam  high  in  air.  Then  turned  Sir 
Benedict  and  looked  on  their  grimly  ranks,  glad-eyed: 

"  O  sirs,"  quoth  he,  "  who  would  not  be  a  man  to  fight 
in  such  just  cause!  " 

So  saying,  he  smiled  his  wry  and  twisted  smile  and 
closed  his  vizor:  then,  with  shield  addressed  and  feet 
thrust  far  within  the  stirrups  he  lightly  feutred  his  deadly 
lance ;  and  behold !  down  swept  every  lance  behind  him  as, 
leaning  low  behind  his  shield,  he  shouted  right  joyously: 
"  Come  ye,  messires  —  lay  on  this  day  for  Pentavalon !  " 
Forward  bounded  the  great  horses  a-down  the  slope  — 
away,  away,  gathering  speed  with  every  stride  —  away, 
away,  across  the  level  with  flying  rein  and  busy  spur; 
and  now  a  loud  shouting  and  dire  amaze  among  Sir  Per- 
tolepe's  battle  with  desperate  wheeling  of  ranks  and  spur- 
ring of  rearing  horses,  while  Sir  Benedict's  riders  swept 
down  on  them,  grim  and  voiceless,  fast  and  faster.  Came 
a  roaring  crash  beneath  whose  dire  shock  Sir  Pertolepe's 
ranks  were  riven  and  rent  asunder,  and  over  and  through 
their  red  confusion  Sir  Benedict  rode  in  thunderous,  re- 
sistless might,  straight  for  where,  above  their  mid-most, 
close-set  ranks,  fluttered  and  flew  Sir  Pertolepe's  Raven 
banner.  Now,  in  hot  haste.  Sir  Pertolepe  launched  an- 
other charge  to  check  that  furious  onset,  what  time  he  re- 
formed and  strengthened  his  main  battle ;  but,  with  speed 
unchecked,  Sir  Benedict's  mighty  ranks  met  them  in  full 


428  Beltane  the  Smith 

career  —  broke  them,  flung  them  reeling  back  on  Sir 
Pertolepe*s  staggering  van  and  all  was  wild  disorder,  above 
which  roaring  tumult  the  Raven  banner  reeled  and  swayed 
and  the  fray  waxed  ever  fiercer. 

Now  ran  Beltane  where  stood  Roger  to  hold  his  horse, 
with  Ulf  who  leaned  upon  a  goodly  axe  and  young  Sir 
John  of  Griswold,  who  clenched  and  wrung  his  mailed 
hands  and  bit  upon  his  boyish  lip  and  stamped  in  his  im- 
patience. 

"  My  lord,"  he  cried,  "  my  lord,  suffer  us  to  charge  — 
ah !  see  —  our  good  Sir  Benedict  will  be  surrounded  — 
cutoff—" 

"  Nay,  methinks  he  is  too  wise  in  war,  he  fighteth  ever 
with  calm  head.  Sir  John." 

"  But,  messire,  do  but  see  —  his  charge  is  checked  — 
see  —  see,  he  yieldeth  ground  —  he  giveth  back !  " 

"  Aye,  verily ! "  quoth  Beltane,  springing  to  saddle, 
"  but  behold  how  he  orders  his  line !  0  lovely  knight ! 
O  wise  Benedict!  See  you  not  his  wisdom  now.  Sir  John? 
In  his  retreat  he  draweth  Sir  Pertolepe's  main  battle 
athwart  our  line  of  charge,  their  flank  exposed  and  open 
—  to  horse.  Sir  John,  to  horse !  Yet  stir  not  until  I  give 
the  word."  Forthwith  sprang  Sir  John  to  saddle  and 
Roger  and  Ulf  also,  what  time  Beltane  sat,  his  gaze  upon 
the  conflict,  his  bugle-horn  in  his  hand;  of  a  sudden  he 
clapped  it  to  lip  and  sounded  the  old  fierce  rallying  note. 
High  and  shrill  and  loud  it  rang  above  the  roar  of  battle, 
and  lo !  distant  and  far,  like  an  answer  to  the  call,  from 
the  grim  and  battered  tower  of  Brand  a  mighty  shout  went 
up  — "  Arise !     Arise !  —  Pentavalon  !  " 

"  Oho !  "  cried  Roger,  sitting  close  on  Beltane's  left, 
"  list  ye  to  that,  now !  And  see  —  ha !  there  cometh  our 
long-legged  Walkyn,  first  of  them  all !  See  how  they  order 
their  pikes  —  O  master,  they  be  sweet  and  doughty  fel- 
lows !  See  how  Jenkyn's  archers  shoot  —  each  man  to 
the  ear !  " 

Awhile  sat  Beltane  watching,  wide-eyed,  while  Sir  Bene- 
dict, fighting  sword  in  hand,  fell  back  and  back  before 


Telleth  of  the  Onfall  at  Brand      429 

the  furious  onset  of  Sir  Pertolepe's  main  battle  until  he 
had  drawn  the  fight  mid-way.  Then,  quick-breathing,  my 
Beltane  closed  his  vizor. 

"  Now ! "  cried  he,  "  now,  good  comrades  all,  God  will- 
ing, we  have  them.  Let  each  man  choose  his  foe  and  smite 
this  day  for  Liberty  and  Justice !  " 

So  saying,  he  levelled  his  lance,  and  a  hundred  lances 
sank  behind  him.  Spurs  struck  deep,  horses  reared, 
plunged,  and  sped  away.  Before  their  galloping  line  rode 
Sir  John  of  Griswold  with  Roger  and  Ulf:  and  before 
these.  Beltane. 

He  felt  the  wind  a-whistle  through  the  eye-vents  of  his 
casque,  heard  the  muffled  thunder  of  the  galloping  hoofs 
behind  mingled  with  the  growing  din  of  battle;  heard  a 
shout  —  a  roar  of  anger  and  dismay,  saw  a  confusion  of 
rearing  horses  as  Sir  Pertolepe  swung  about  to  meet  this 
new  attack,  steadied  his  aim,  and  with  his  hundred  lances 
thundering  close  behind,  drove  in  upon  those  bristling 
ranks  to  meet  them  shield  to  shield  with  desperate  shock 
of  onset  —  felt  his  tough  lance  go  home  with  jarring  crash 
—  saw  horses  that  reared  high  and  were  gone,  lost  be- 
neath the  trampling  fray,  and  found  his  lance  shivered 
to  the  very  grip.  Out  flashed  his  sword,  for  all  about 
him  was  a  staggering  press  of  horses  that  neighed  and 
screamed,  and  men  who  smote,  shouting,  and  were  smitten ; 
unseen  blows  battered  him  while  he  thrust  and  hewed,  and 
wondered  to  see  his  long  blade  so  dimmed  and  bloody. 
And  ever  as  he  fought,  through  the  narrow  vent  of  his 
casque  he  caught  small  and  sudden  visions  of  this  close- 
locked,  desperate  fray ;  of  Ulf  standing  in  his  stirrups  to 
ply  his  whirling  axe  whose  mighty,  crashing  blows  no 
armour  might  withstand ;  of  grim  Roger,  scowling  and 
fierce,  wielding  ponderous  broad-sword;  of  young  Sir 
John  of  Griswold,  reeling  in  his  saddle,  his  helpless  arms 
wide-flung. 

So  cut  they  bloody  path  through  Pertolepe's  deep 
array,  on  and  forward  with  darting  point  and  deep-biting 
edge,  unheeding  wounds  or  shock  of  blows,  until  Beltane 


43 o  Beltane  the  Smith 

beheld  the  press  yield,  thin  out,  and  melt  away,  thereupon 
shouted  he  hoarse  and  loud,  rode  down  a  knight  who 
sought  to  bar  his  way,  unhorsed  a  second,  and  wheeling 
his  snorting  charger,  wondered  at  the  seeming  quiet ;  then 
lifting  his  vizor,  looked  about  him.  And  lo !  wheresoever 
his  glance  fell  were  men  that  crawled  groaning,  or  lay 
very  mute  and  still  amid  a  huddle  of  fallen  horses,  and, 
beyond  these  again,  were  other  men,  a-horse  and  a-foot, 
that  galloped  and  ran  amain  for  the  shelter  of  the  green. 
Sir  Pertolepe's  array  was  scattered  up  and  down  the 
valley  —  the  battle  was  lost  and  won. 

Now  while  he  yet  sat  thus,  dazed  by  the  shock  of  blows 
and  breathing  deep  of  the  sweet,  cool  air,  he  beheld  one 
rise  up  from  where  the  battle-wrack  lay  thickest,  an  awful 
figure  that  limped  towards  him,,  holding  aloft  the  broken 
shaft  of  an  axe. 

"  Aha,  lord  Beltane !  "  cried  Ulf ,  wiping  sweat  and 
blood  from  him,  "  there  be  no  more  —  left  to  smite,  see 
you.  The  which  —  is  well,  for  weapon  —  have  I  none. 
This  axe  was  the  third  this  day  —  broken,  see  you  I 
Alas !  there  is  no  weapon  I  may  use.  Saw  you  Roger, 
lord,  that  is  my  comrade?  " 

"  Nay,  good  Ulf  —  ha,  what  of  him  ?  " 

"  His  horse  was  slain,  lord.  So  fought  he  afoot,  since 
when  I  saw  him  not." 

"  And  where  is  Sir  Benedict  and  Walkyn  —  O  see  you 
not  Sir  Benedict?  mine  eyes  are  dazzled  with  the  sun." 

But  now  Ulf  uttered  a  joyful  cry  and  pointed  with  his 
axe-shaft. 

"  Yonder  cometh  Roger,  lord,  and  with  him  the  little 
archer,  but  whom  bring  they?  " 

Very  slowly  they  came,  Roger  and  Prat  the  archer, 
up-bearing  betwixt  them  good  Sir  Hubert  of  Erdington, 
his  harness  hacked  and  broken,  his  battered  helm  a-swing 
upon  its  thongs,  his  eyes  a-swoon  in  the  pallor  of  his  face. 

Down  sprang  Beltane  and  ran  to  greet  him  and  to  catch 
his  nerveless  hands: 


Telleth  of  the  Onfall  at  Brand      431 

"  Lord  Beltane,"  quoth  he,  faintly,  "  full  oft  have  I 
shed  my  blood  for  —  Pentavalon  —  to-day  I  die,  mes- 
sire.  But,  as  thou  didst  say  — 'tis  well  to  die  —  in  cause 
so  noble !     My  lord,  farewell  to  thee !  " 

And  with  the  word,  even  as  he  stood  'twixt  Roger  and 
the  archer,  the  stout  old  knight  was  dead.  So  they  laid 
Hubert  of  Erdington  very  reverently  upon  that  trampled 
field  he  had  maintained  so  well. 

"  A  right  noble  knight,  my  lord,"  quoth  Prat,  shaking 
gloomy  head,  "  but  for  him,  methinks  our  pikemen  would 
have  broke  to  their  third  onset !  " 

"  There  is  no  man  of  you  hath  not  fought  like  ten  men 
this  day !  "  said  Beltane,  leaning  on  his  sword  and  with 
head  a-droop.     *'  Have  we  lost  many,  know  ye?  " 

"  A  fair  good  number,  master,  as  was  to  be  expected," 
quoth  Roger,  cleansing  his  sword  on  a  tuft  of  grass,  "  Sir 
John  of  Griswold  fell  beside  me  deep-smitten  through  the 
helm." 

"  And  what  of  Sir  Benedict.?  " 

*'  See  yonder  —  yonder  he  rides,  my  lord  !  "  cried  Prat, 
*'  though  methinks  you  scarce  shall  know  him."  And  he 
pointed  where,  on  spent  and  weary  charger,  one  rode,  a 
drooping,  languid  figure,  his  bright  armour  bespattered 
and  dim,  his  dinted  casque  smitten  awry ;  slowly  he  rode 
before  his  weary  company  until  of  a  sudden  espying  Bel- 
tane, he  uttered  a  great  and  glad  cry,  his  drooping 
shoulders  straightened,  and  he  rode  forward  with  mailed 
arms  outstretched. 

"  Beltane !  "  he  cried,  "  praise  be  to  God !  One  told 
me  thou  wert  down  —  art  well,  sweet  lad,  and  all  un- 
harmed.'* God  is  merciful!"  And  he  patted  Beltane's 
mailed  shoulder,  what  time  blood  oozed  from  his  steel 
gauntlet  and  his  sobbing  charger  hung  weary  head  and 
snorted  purple  foam.  "  O  lad,"  quoth  he,  smiling  his 
wry  smile,  "  here  was  an  hour  worth  living  for  —  though 
Sir  Bertrand  is  sore  hurt  and  many  do  lie  dead  of  my 
company." 


43  2  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  And  here,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  brave  Hubert  of  Er- 
dington  —  behold !  " 

"  A  gallant  knight,  Beltane  I  May  I  so  valiantly  die 
when  that  my  time  be  come.  Truly  'twas  a  sharp  debate 
what  time  it  lasted,  there  be  many  that  will  ride  with  us 
no  more." 

"And  thou,  my  lord?"  cried  Beltane  suddenly,  "thy 
cheek  so  pale  —  thou'rt  hurt,  Benedict !  " 

"  Nought  to  matter,  lad,  save  that  it  is  my  sword-arm : 
nay  indeed,  my  Beltane,  'twas  but  an  axe  bit  through  my 
vanbrace,  'twill  heal  within  the  week.  But  take  now  my 
horn  and  summon  ye  our  scattered  company,  for  I  do 
lack  the  wind." 

Knight  and  man-at-arms,  limping  and  afoot,  on  horses 
weary  and  blown,  they  came  at  the  summons  —  archer 
and  pike-man  they  came,  a  blood  be-spattered  company; 
many  were  they  that  staggered,  faint  with  wounds,  and 
many  that  sank  upon  the  trampled  grass  a-swoon  v/ith 
weariness,  but  in  the  eyes  of  eac]^  and  every  was  the  look 
of  men  that  triumph. 

Cnut  was  there,  his  bascinet  gone,  his  fiery  hair  be- 
tousled :  Tall  Orson  was  there,  leaning  on  a  bent  and  bat- 
tered pike,  and  there  his  comrade,  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford, 
with  many  others  that  Beltane  well  remembered  and 
others  whose  faces  he  knew  not.  So  formed  they  their 
battle-scarred  array  what  time  Beltane  viewed  them  with 
glowing  eye  and  heart  swelling  within  him. 

"  Master !  "  cried  Tall  Orson  of  a  sudden,  "  O  master, 
us  do  be  clean  men  and  goodly  fighters  as  us  did  promise 
thee  time  'gone  i'  the  Hollow,  master,  ye'll  mind  us  as  did 
promise  so  to  be  —  I  and  Jenkyn  as  be  my  comrade "?  " 

"  Aye,  master ! "  cried  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford,  "  aye, 
look'ee,  we  ha'  kept  our  word  to  thee  as  we  did  promise, 
look'ee  master!  So  now,  speak  word  to  us  master, 
look'ee !  " 

"  Ye  men !  "  quoth  Beltane,  hoarse-voiced,  "  O  my  good 
comrades  all,  your  deeds  this  day  shall  speak  when  we 
are  dust,  methinks !     Your  foes  this  day  did  muster  three 


Telleth  of  the  Onfall  at  Brand      433 

thousand  strong,  and  ye  do  number  scarce  a  thousand  — 
yet  have  ye  scattered  them,  for  that  your  cause  is  just  — 
'tis  thus  ye  shall  lift  Pentavalon  from  shame  and  give  to 
her  peace  at  last !  " 

Then  Tall  Orson  shook  aloft  his  battered  pike  and 
shouted  amain,  and  on  the  instant,  others  took  up  the 
cry  —  a  hoarse  roar  that  rolled  from  rank  to  rank ;  lance 
and  sword,  axe  and  pike  were  flourished  high  in  air,  and 
from  these  men  w^ho  had  marched  so  grimly  silent  all  the 
day  a  great  and  mighty  shout  went  up: 

"  Arise,  Pentavalon !  Ha !  Beltane  —  Pentavalon !  " 
Now  even  as  they  shouted,  upon  this  thunderous  roar  there 
stole  another  sound,  high  and  clear  and  very  sweet,  that 
rose  and  swelled  upon  the  air  like  the  voices  of  quiring 
angels ;  and  of  a  sudden  the  shouting  was  hushed,  as,  forth 
of  the  tower's  gloomy  portal  the  lady  Abbess  came,  tall 
and  fair  and  saintly  in  her  white  habit,  her  nuns  behind 
her,  two  and  two,  their  hands  clasped,  their  eyes  upraised 
to  heaven,  chanting  to  God  a  hymn  of  praise  and  thanks- 
giving. Slow  paced  they  thus,  the  stately  Abbess  with 
head  low-bended  and  slim  hands  clasped  upon  her  silver 
crucifix  until,  the  chant  being  ended,  she  raised  her  head 
and  beheld  straightway  Sir  Benedict  unhelmed  and  yet 
astride  his  great  charger.  The  silver  crucifix  fell,  the 
slim  hands  clasped  themselves  upon  her  Jjosom  and  the 
eyes  of  the  tall,  white  Abbess  grew  suddenly  wide  and 
dark :  and  even  as  she  gazed  on  him,  so  gazed  Sir  Benedict 
on  her. 

"  Yolande !  "  said  he,  hoarse-voiced  and  low. 

"  Benedict !  "  she  murmured. 

Slowly  Sir  Benedict  bowed  his  head,  and  turning,  laid 
his  hand  on  Beltane's  mailed  shoulder. 

"  Lady,"  said  he,  "  behold  here  Beltane  —  that  is  son 
to  Beltane  heretofore  Duke  and  Lord  of  Pentavalon !  " 

"  Ah !  "  she  whispered,  "  Beltane !  "  and  of  a  sudden 
stretched  out  her  arms  in  passionate  yearning  gesture, 
then,  covering  her  face,  sank  upon  her  knees,  "  God  pity 
me !  "  she  sighed,  "  God  pity  me !  "     Thereafter  she  rose 


434  Beltane  the  Smith 

to  her  stately  height  and  looked  on  Beltane,  gentle  and 
calm-eyed. 

*'  My  lord  Beltane,"  said  she,  "  I  have  heard  tell  thou 
art  a  noble  knight,  strong  yet  gentle  —  so  should  thy 
father  be  greatly  blessed  in  thee  —  and  thy  —  mother 
also.     God  have  thee  ever  in  His  keeping  —  Beltane !  " 

Now  as  she  spake  the  name  her  soft  voice  brake,  and 
turning,  she  stood  with  head  bowed  upon  her  hands,  and 
standing  thus,  spake  again,  deep-voiced  and  soft: 

"  Sir  Benedict,  we  are  come  to  minister  to  the  hurt, 
all  is  prepared  within  the  tower,  let  them  be  brought  to 
us  I  pray,  and  —  my  lord,  forget  not  the  sacred  oath 
thou  didst  swear  me  —  long  years  agone !  " 


CHAPTER  LVIir 

HOW    BELTANE    HAD    SPEECH    WITH    THE    ABBESS 

They  found  rich  booty  in  Pertolepe's  camp,  with  store 
of  arms  and  armour  and  many  goodly  horses,  and  thither 
Sir  Benedict's  wearied  followers  betook  them  as  night  fell 
and  knew  blessed  rest  and  sleep.  But  in  the  tower  of 
Brand  lights  gleamed  where  the  Abbess  and  her  gentle 
nuns  went  to  and  fro  among  the  wounded,  ministering 
to  their  wants ;  and  far  beyond  the  camp,  armour  glinted 
ever  and  anon  against  the  blackness  of  the  surrounding 
woods,  where  outpost  and  sentinel  kept  vigilant  watch 
and  ward.  Though  late  the  hour  Beltane  sat  wakeful, 
chin  on  fist,  beside  a  glimmering  watch-fire,  oft  turning 
his  glance  towards  the  massy,  weather-beaten  tower,  be- 
thinking him  of  the  noble  lady  Abbess,  of  her  strange 
looks  and  words,  and  so  fell  to  brooding  thought.  High 
overhead  the  moon  rode,  obscured  by  flying  clouds,  a  wild 
wrack  up-whirling  from  the  south:  at  fitful  intervals  was 
a  wind  that  moaned  drearily  'mid  the  gloom  of  distant 
woods,  a  desolate  sound  that  sobbed  upon  the  air,  and 
dying  to  a  wail,  was  gone.  Now  becoming  aware  of  this, 
Beltane  raised  his  head,  and  looked  up  at  the  ominous 
heavens  and  round  about  him.  And  thus  he  espied  a 
light  that  hovered  hither  and  thither  above  the  distant 
battle-field,  a  small  light  whose  red  flame  flashed  back 
from  cloven  casque  and  riven  shield,  where  eyes  glared 
unseeing  and  mouths  gaped  mute  and  dumb  from  a  dark 
confusion  whence  mailed  arms  stiffly  rose  with  hands  tight- 
clenched  that  seemed  to  menace  heaven,  and  rigid  feet  whose 
spurred  heels  yet  gored  the  flanks  of  rigid,  fallen  charg- 
ers; to  and  fro  and  up  and  down  this  small  flame  leaped 
merrily,  dancing  from  dead  face  to  dead  face  but  staying 


43^ 


Beltane  the  Smith 


never,  a  fiendish  fire  that  seemed  to  mock  the  horror  of 
wounds  and  gibe  at  solemn  death. 

Now  as  he  watched  this  devilish  light.  Beltane  arose  and 
reaching  for  his  sword  went  soft-footed  to  meet  it,  then 
paused,  for  the  light  was  moving  towards  him.  Near  and 
nearer  it  came,  until,  into  the  glow  of  the  fire,  his  be- 
tousled  head  wild  and  bare,  his  link-mail  yet  befouled 
with  battle,  Walkyn  strode,  and  hurling  his  torch  upon 
the  grass,  crushed  it  out  'neath  his  heel.  Then  came  he 
to  the  fire  and  stood  there,  arms  crossed,  frowning  down 
at  the  flame. 

"  Greeting  to  thee,  Waldron  of  Brand !  " 

Swift  turned  Walkyn,  his  gloomy  scowl  relaxed  at  Bel- 
tane's voice,  and  stooping,  he  took  and  kissed  my  Beltane's 
hand. 

"Whence  come  ye,  Walkyn?" 

"  From  going  to  and  fro  among  the  dead,  seeking 
Pertolepe,  master.  Ha !  they  do  lie  thick  yonder,  five 
hundred  and  twenty  and  three  I  counted  of  Bloody 
Pertolepe's  following.  And  in  the  woods  do  lie  certain 
others,  that  I,  with  divers  of  our  company,  pursued  and 
cut  off." 

"  And  what  of  their  wounded  ?  " 

"  I  saw  none,  master  —  nor  have  I  seen  Pertolepe.  I 
have  viewed  all  the  slain,  but  Pertolepe  is  not  there,  yet 
have  I  smitten  and  slain  three  Pertolepes  this  day  — 
hawks,  see  you,  in  eagle's  feathers !  So  is  my  work  yet 
to  do,  and  I  grieve  still  for  Pertolepe's  head." 

"  Sit  ye  down,  Walkyn,  here  with  me  beside  the  fire." 

Forthwith  Walkyn  obeyed  and  stretching  himself  on 
the  grass  fell  to  toying  with  the  haft  of  his  axe  and 
scowling  at  the  fire  again. 

"  This  was,  methinks,  thy  father's  tower  and  demesne 
of  Brand,  Walkyn.?" 

"  Aye,  lord,  here  was  I  born  —  yon  ruined  walls  did 
hear  my  father's  groans  —  the  screams  of  my  mother  and 
sister  amid  the  flame.  And  Red  Pertolepe  was  there,  and 
Gui  of  Allerdale  and  Roger  and  young  Gilles  of  Brandon- 


Has  Speech  With  the  Abbess      437 

mere  —  all  were  there  with  six  other  noble  knights ;  but 
these  six  we  slew  long  since,  my  brother  and  I.  All  these 
were  here  that  day  —  and  Sir  Pertolepe  —  laughed  — 
full  loud,  'twas  told  me.  So  'twere  just  he  should  have 
died  here  to-day,  methinks?  'Twas  for  this  I  lured  him 
hither  —  and  he  liveth  yet !  " 

"But  God  is  a  just  God,  Walkyn!  Now  therefore 
leave  him  to  God  henceforth  — !  " 

"  To  God ! "  cried  Walkyn,  his  eyes  wild,  his  hands 
tight-clenched,  "  to  God !  —  ha !  master,  ye  left  him  to 
God  on  a  time  and  because  of  thee,  I  —  I  that  had  my 
dagger  at  his  rogue's  throat  —  I,  yearning  to  slay  him, 
did  but  mark  him  i'  the  brow  —  aye,  forsooth,  we  left 
him  to  God  and  lo !  to-day  he  burneth,  he  slayeth  and 
hangeth  as  was  ever  his  wont  — " 

"  God's  time  is  not  ours,  Walkyn,  but  for  the  evil 
wrought  by  Sir  Pertolepe,  Sir  Pertolepe  needs  must  an- 
swer when  God  so  wills.  So  leave  him  to  the  vengeance 
of  God  —  lest  the  fire  of  thy  vengeance  consume  thee 
quite.  Thou  art  strong,  and  few  may  cope  with  thee  in 
fight,  yet  hath  vengeance  fettered  and  made  thee  bond- 
slave. Forego  thy  vengeance  then,  and  be  free,  good 
comrade." 

"  Nay  master,  an  I  so  do,  what  is  left  me?  " 

"The  love  of  thy  fellows,  Walkyn.  Thou  art,  for- 
sooth, a  man,  so  do  I  love  thee,  and  perchance  within  a 
new  Pentavalon  thou  may'st  come  to  new  fortune  and 
honour.     Thou  shalt  hold  again  thy  father's  lands  — " 

"To  what  end,  lord.?  As  ye  do  know,  my  wife  and 
child  do  lie  in  nameless  grave,  done  to  cruel  death  by 
dogs  of  Pertolepe :  my  brother  rotted  in  a  noose  —  set 
there  by  Pertolepe.  So  am  I  a  lonely  man  henceforth; 
one  thing  only  seek  I  of  life,  master." 

"And  that,  Walkyn?" 

"  The  head  of  Bloody  Pertolepe !  "  So  saying,  Walkyn 
rose,  and  stood  scowling  down  at  the  fire  again,  whose 
glow  shone  ominous  and  red  upon  the  broad  blade  of  the 
mighty  axe  that  lay  on  the  grass  at  his  feet. 


438 


Beltane  the  Smith 


Now  of  a  sudden  forth  from  the  shadows,  swift  and 
silent  on  his  long  legs  came  crooked  Ulf,  and  stooping, 
would  have  lifted  the  weapon,  but  in  that  moment  Walkyn 
snarled,  and  set  his  foot  upon  it. 

"  Off !  "  he  growled,  "  touch  not  mine  axe,  thou  vile 
mannikin  —  lest  I  tread  on  thee !  " 

But  scarce  were  the  words  spoken,  than,  with  great  back 
low-crouched,  Ulf  sprang,  and  whirling  mighty  Walkyn 
aloft,  mailed  feet  on  high,  held  him  writhing  above  the 
fire;  then,  swinging  about,  hurled  him,  rolling  over  and 
over,  upon  the  ling;  so  lay  Walkyn  awhile  propped  on 
an  elbow,  staring  on  Ulf  with  wide  eyes  and  mouth  agape 
what  time,  strung  for  sudden  action.  Beltane  sat  cross- 
legged  upon  the  green,  looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Mannikin?"  roared  Ulf,  great  hands  opening  and 
shutting,  "  unworthy  to  touch  axe  of  thine,  thou  pesti- 
lent beast !  Dare  ye  so  say  to  one  gently  born,  base 
fellow?  Now  will  I  break  thee  thine  accursed  axe  —  and 
thee  thereafter,  an  ye  will !  " 

So  saying,  Ulf  the  Mighty  caught  up  the  axe  and  wheel- 
ing it  full-armed,  smote  and  buried  it  in  a  young  tree 
close  by  —  wrenched  it  free  and  smote  again.  And  lo ! 
with  prodigious  crack  and  rending  of  fibres  the  tall  tree 
swayed,  crashing  to  earth.  Now  while  Ulf  yet  stood  to 
stare  amazed  upon  this  wondrous  axe,  upon  its  sharp- 
glittering,  flawless  edge,  Walkyn  had  risen,  dagger  in 
hand ;  but  even  as  he  crouched  to  spring,  a  voice  spake  — 
a  gentle  voice  but  commanding;  and  in  the  fire-glow  stood 
the  white  Abbess,  tall  and  gracious,  the  silver  crucifix 
agleam  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Children !  "  she  sighed ;  and  looking  from  scowling 
Walkyn  to  frowning  Ulf  she  reached  a  slim  hand  to  each. 
"  O  children,"  said  she,  "  lay  by  your  steel  and  give  to 
me  your  hands  !  " 

Fumbling  and  awkward,  Walkjm  sheathed  his  dagger 
while  Ulf  laid  the  mighty  axe  upon  the  grass  very  ten- 
derly, as  it  had  been  a  sleeping  child;  so  came  they  both, 
shame-faced,  unto  the  lady  Abbess  and  gave  her  each  a 


Has  Speech  With  the  Abbess     439 

hand.  Holding  them  thus  she  looked  with  sad,  sweet  eyes 
from  one  grim  face  to  the  other,  and  drew  them  nearer 
the  fire. 

"Walkyn,  son  of  God,"  said  she,  "behold  here  Ulf 
whose  valiant  heart  and  mighty  strength  have  been  our 
salvation!  Ulf,  child  of  Heaven,  whom  God  hath  made 
so  mighty,  behold  here  brave  Walkyn  who  did  protect  the 
weak  and  helpless  and  fighteth  for  the  right !  '  Come  then, 
as  ye  are  children  of  God,  go  ye  in  brotherly  love  to- 
gether henceforth,  and  may  heaven  bless  ye,  valiant  sons !  " 

Thus  saying,  she  set  their  hands  one  in  another,  and 
these  hands  gripped  and  held. 

Quoth  Ulf,  sighing: 

"  Forsooth,  I  did  but  mean  to  try  the  balance  of  thine 
axe,  Walkyn.  And  truly  it  is  a  mighty  weapon  and  a 
peerless  —  one  that  even  my  strength  cannot  break !  " 

Quoth  Walkyn,  grim-smiling: 

"  There  is  in  this  world  no  axe  like  unto  it  save  one 
that  was  my  brother's  —  and  shall  be  thine  henceforth, 
Ulf  the  Strong.  Come  now,  and  I  will  give  it  unto  thee." 
Then  bent  they  reverently  before  the  Abbess,  saluted  Bel- 
tane and,  side  by  side,  strode  away  together. 

"  Would  all  feuds  might  so  end,  sweet  son,"  sighed  the 
Abbess,  her  wistful  eyes  down-bent  upon  the  fire. 

"  Would  there  were  more  sweet  souls  abroad  to  teach 
men  reason !  "  quoth  Beltane. 

"  AVhy  sit  you  here,  my  son,  wakeful  and  alone  and  the 
hour  so  late?  " 

"  For  that  sleep  doth  fly  my  wooing,  holy  mother." 

"  Then  fain  would  I  share  thy  vigil  awhile." 

Forthwith  Beltane  brought  her  a  stool,  rough  and 
rudely  fashioned,  and  while  she  sat,  he  lay  beside  her  in 
the  firelight;  and  thus,  despite  her  hood  and  wimple,  he 
saw  her  face  was  of  a  calm  and  noble  beauty,  smooth  and 
unwrinkled  despite  the  silver  hair  that  peeped  forth  of 
her  loosened  hood.  A  while  they  sat  thus,  nothing  speak- 
ing, he  viewing  her,  she  gazing  ever  on  the  fire;  at  last: 

"  Thou'rt  young,  messire,"  she  said  wistfully,  "  yet  in 


440  Beltane  the  Smith 

thy  life  hath  been  much  of  strife,  I've  heard.  Thou  hast 
known  much  of  hardship,  my  son,  and  sorrow  methinks?  '* 

"  So  do  I  live  for  that  fair  day  when  Peace  shall  come 
again,  noble  lady." 

"  Full  oft  have  I  heard  tell  of  thee,  my  son,  strange 
tales  and  mars^ellous.  Some  do  liken  thee  to  a  demon  joy- 
ing in  slaughter,  and  some  to  an  archangel  bearing  the 
sword  of  God." 

"And  how  think  you,  reverend  mother?" 

"  I  think  of  thee  as  a  man,  my  son.  I  have  heard  thee 
named  *  outlaw  '  and  '  lawless  ravener,'  and  some  do  call 
thee  'Beltane  the  Smith.'     Now  wherefore  smith?" 

"  For  that  smith  was  I  bred,  lady." 

"  But  thou'rt  of  noble  blood,  lord  Beltane," 

"  Yet  knew  I  nought  of  it  until  I  was  man  grown." 

"  Thy  youth  —  they  tell  me  —  hath  been  very  lonely, 
my  son  —  and  desolate." 

"  Not  desolate,  for  in  my  loneliness  was  the  hermit 
Ambrose  who  taught  me  many  things  and  most  of  all,  how 
to  love  him.  So  lived  I  in  the  greenwood,  happy  and 
content,  until  on  a  day  this  saintly  Ambrose  told  me  a 
woeful  tale  —  so  did  I  know  this  humble  hermit  for  the 
noble  Duke,  my  father." 

"Thy  father!  The  Duke!  A  hermit!  Told  he  of  — 
all  his  sorrows,  my  son?  " 

"  All,  reverend  mother,  and  thereafter  bade  me  beware 
the  falsity  of  women." 

The  pale  cheek  of  the  Abbess  grew  suddenly  suffused, 
the  slim  hand  clenched  rigid  upon  the  crucifix  at  her 
bosom,  but  she  stirred  not  nor  lifted  her  sad  gaze  from 
the  fire. 

*'  Liveth  thy  father  yet,  my  son  ?  " 

«  'Tis  so  I  pray  God,  lady." 

"And  —  thy  mother?" 

"  'Tis  so  I've  heard." 

*'  Pray  you  not  for —  for  her  also?  " 

"  I  never  knew  my  mother,  lady." 

"  Alas !   poor   lonely   mother !     So   doth   she  need   thy 


Has  Speech  With  the  Abbess      441 

prayers  the  more.  Ah,  think  you  she  hath  not  perchance 
yearned  with  breaking  heart  for  her  babe?  To  have 
kissed  him  into  rosy  slumber !  To  have  cherished  his  bo}'- 
ish  hurts  and  sorrows !  To  have  gloried  in  his  youthful 
might  and  manhood !  O  sure  there  is  no  sorrow  like  the 
loneliness  of  desolate  motherhood.  Would'st  seek  this  un- 
known mother,  lord  Beltane?  " 

"  Truly  there  be  times  when  I  do  yearn  to  find  her  — 
and  there  be  times  when  I  do  fear  — " 

"  Fear,  my  lord?  " 

"  Holy  mother,  I  learned  of  her  first  as  one  false  to 
her  vows,  light-minded  and  fickle  from  her  youth  — " 

"  O  hath  there  been  none  to  speak  thee  good  of  her  — 
in  all  these  years?  " 

"  There  was  Jolette,  that  folk  did  call  a  witch,  and 
there  is  Sir  Benedict  that  doth  paint  her  pure  and  noble 
as  I  would  have  her.  Yet  would  I  know  for  myself,  fain 
would  I  be  sure  ere  we  do  meet,  if  she  is  but  the  woman 
who  bore  me,  or  the  proud  and  noble  mother  I  fain  would 
love. 

"  Could'st  not  love  her  first  and  judge  her  after,  my 
son?  Could  not  her  very  motherhood  plead  her  cause 
with  thee?  Must  she  be  weighed  in  the  balance  ere  thou 
yield  her  a  son's  respect  and  love?  So  many  weary  years 
—  'tis  something  hard,  methinks !  Nay,  heed  me  not,  my 
lord  —  seek  out  thy  mother,  unbeknown  —  prove  for  thy- 
self her  worthiness  or  falsity,  prove  for  thyself  her  honour 
or  her  shame — 'tis  but  just,  aye,  'tis  but  just  in  very 
truth.  But  I,  beholding  things  with  woman's  eyes,  know 
only  that  a  mother's  love  shrinketh  not  for  any  sin,  but 
reacheth  down  through  shame  and  evil  with  sheltering 
arms  outstretched  —  a  holy  thing,  fearless  of  sin,  more 
lasting  than  shame  and  stronger  than  death  itself." 

So  saying,  the  lady  Abbess  rose  and  turned  to  look  up 
at  the  lights  that  burned  within  the  tower. 

"  'Tis  late,  my  lord,"  she  sighed,  "  get  thee  now  to 
thy  rest,  for  I  must  begone  to  my  duty  till  the  dawn. 
There  be  many  sick,  and  good  Sir  Bertrand  lieth  very 


442  Beltane  the  Smith 

nigh  to  death  —  he  ne'er  will  see  another  dawn,  methinks, 
so  needs  must  I  away.  Good  night,  sweet  son,  and  in  thy 
prayers  forget  not  thy  —  thy  most  unhappy  mother !  " 

Then  she  lifted  her  hand  and  blessed  him,  and,  ere  he 
rose  up  from  his  knees  she  set  that  white  hand  upon  his 
bowed  head  and  touched  his  yellow  hair  —  a  light  touch, 
furtive  and  shy,  but  a  touch  that  was  like  to  a  caress. 

Thereafter,  Beltane,  coming  into  his  hut  of  woven  wat- 
tle, rolled  himself  in  his  weather-worn  mantle  and  pres- 
ently fell  to  slumber. 


CHAPTER  LIX 

TELLETH    HOW    SIR    BENEDICT    WENT    A-FISHING 

Next  day  Sir  Bertrand  died  of  his  hurts,  so  they  buried 
him  beside  young  Sir  John  of  Griswold  and  sturdy  old 
Hubert  of  Erdington  and  a  hundred  and  twenty  and  five 
others  of  their  company  who  had  fallen  in  that  desperate 
affray ;  therefore  tarried  they  a  while  what  time  their  sick 
and  wounded  grew  towards  health  and  strength  by  reason 
of  the  skill  and  tender  care  of  the  lady  Abbess  and  her 
nuns. 

Now  on  the  afternoon  of  this  day,  Sir  Benedict  being 
sick  a-bed  of  his  wound,  Beltane  sat  in  council  among 
the  oldest  and  wisest  of  the  knights,  and  presently  sum- 
moned Walkyn  and  Ulf,  Roger  and  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford, 
speaking  them  on  this  wise: 

"  Good  comrades,  list  ye  now !  These  noble  knights 
and  I  have  hither  summoned  ye  for  that  ye  are  of  good 
and  approved  courage  and  moreover  foresters  born  and 
cunning  in  wood-lore.  As  ye  do  know,  'tis  our  intent  to 
march  for  Belsaye  so  soon  as  our  wounded  be  fit.  But 
first  must  we  be  'ware  if  our  road  be  open  or  no.  There- 
fore, Walkyn,  do  ye  and  Ulf  take  ten  men  and  haste  to 
Winisfarne  and  the  forest-road  that  runneth  north  and 
south:  be  ye  wary  of  surprise  and  heedful  of  all  things. 
You,  Roger  and  Jenkyn,  with  other  ten,  shall  seek  the 
road  that  runneth  east  and  west ;  marching  due  south  you 
shall  come  to  the  northern  road  where  ye  shall  wait  two 
hours  (but  no  longer)  for  Walkyn.  Ye  are  woodsmen! 
Heed  ye  the  brush  and  lower  branches  of  the  trees  if  any 
be  broken,  mark  well  the  track  in  dusty  places  and  seek 
ye  the  print  of  feet  in  marshy  places,  learn  all  ye  may 


444  Beltane  the  Smith 

from  whomsoever  ye  may  and  haste  ye  hot-foot  back  with 
tidings  good  or  ill.     Is  it  understood?" 

"  Aye,  lord !  "  quoth  the  four. 

"  And  look'ee  master,"  said  Jenkyn,  "  there  be  my  com- 
rade Orson  the  Tall,  look'ee.  His  hurt  is  nigh  healed 
and  to  go  wi'  us  shall  be  his  cure  —  now,  look'ee  lord, 
shall  he  go  wi'  us?  " 

"  Nay,  Roger  shall  answer  thee  this,  Jenkyn.  So  now 
begone  and  God  speed  ye,  good  comrades  all !  "  Here- 
upon the  mighty  four  made  their  obeisance  and  hasted 
away,  rejoicing. 

Now  Sir  Benedict's  hurt  had  proved  an  evil  one  and 
deep,  wherefore  the  Abbess,  in  accent  soft  and  tender, 
had,  incontinent,  ordered  him  to  bed,  and  there,  within 
the  silken  tent  that  had  been  Sir  Pertolepe's,  Beltane  oft 
sat  by,  the  while  she,  with  slim  and  dexterous  fingers, 
washed  and  anointed  and  bound  the  ugly  wound:  many 
times  came  she,  soft-treading,  gentle  and  gracious  ever; 
and  at  such  times  Beltane  noticed  that  full  often  he  would 
find  her  deep,  sad  gaze  bent  upon  him ;  he  noticed  also 
that  though  her  voice  was  low  and  gentle,  yet  she  spake 
ever  as  one  'customed  to  obedience.  Thus  it  was,  that 
Sir  Benedict  being  ordered  to  his  couch,  obeyed  the  soft- 
spoke  command,  but  being  kept  there  all  day,  grumbled 
(albeit  to  Beltane)  :  being  kept  there  the  second  day  he 
fell  to  muttered  oaths  and  cursing  (albeit  to  Beltane): 
but  at  sunset  he  became  unruly,  in  so  much  that  he  ven- 
tured to  remonstrate  with  the  lady  Abbess  (albeit  hum- 
bly), whereon  she  smiled,  and  bidding  Beltane  reach  her 
cup  and  spoon,  forthwith  mixed  a  decoction  and  dosed  Sir 
Benedict  that  he  fell  asleep  and  slumbered  amain. 

Thus,  during  this  time,  Beltane  saw  and  talked  much 
with  the  lady  Abbess:  oft  went  he  to  watch  her  among 
the  sick  and  to  aid  her  when  he  might ;  saw  how  fierce  faces 
softened  when  she  bent  to  touch  fevered  brow  or  speak 
them  cheerily  with  smiling  lip  despite  the  deep  and  haunt- 
ing sadness  of  her  eyes ;  saw  how  eagerly  rough  hands 
were  stretched  forth  to  furtive  touch  her  white  habit  as 


How  Sir  Benedict  Went  a-Fishing    445 

she  passed;  heard  harsh  voices  grow  sudden  soft  and  all 
unfamiliar  —  voices  that  broke  in  murmurous  gratitude. 
All  this  saw  and  heard  he  and  failed  not,  morn  and  eve, 
to  kneel  him  at  her  feet  to  hear  her  bless  him  aild  to  feel 
that  soft,  shy  touch  among  his  hair. 

So  passed  two  days,  but  neither  Roger,  nor  Walkyn, 
nor  Ulf,  nor  indeed  any  of  the  twenty  chosen  men  had  yet 
returned  or  sent  word  or  sign,  wherefore  Beltane  began 
to  wax  moody  and  anxious.  Thus  it  was  that  upon  a 
sunny  afternoon  he  wandered  beside  a  little  rivulet,  bow- 
ered  in  alder  and  willow :  here,  a  merry  brook  that  prattled 
over  pebbly  bed  and  laughed  among  stones  and  mossy 
boulders,  there  a  drowsy  stream  that,  widening  to  dreamy 
pool,  stayed  its  haste  to  woo  down-bending  branches  with 
soft,  kissing  noises. 

Now  as  Beltane  walked  beside  the  stream,  head  a-droop 
and  very  thoughtful,  he  paused  of  a  sudden  to  behold  one 
richly  dight  in  gambeson  of  fair-wrought  leather  arti- 
ficially quilted  and  pinked,  who  sat  ensconced  within  this 
greeny  bower,  his  back  to  a  tree,  one  bandaged  arm  slung 
about  his  neck  and  in  the  other  hand  a  long  hazel-branch 
trimmed  with  infinite  care,  whereunto  a  line  was  tied. 

"  Sir  Benedict !  "  cried  Beltane,  "  methought  thee  asleep : 
what  do  ye  so  far  from  camp  and  bed?  " 

"  I  fish,  lad,  I  fish  —  I  ply  a  tentative  angle.  Nay  — 
save  thy  breath,  I  have  caught  me  nothing  yet,  save 
thoughts.  Thoughts  do  flock  a  many,  but  as  to  fish  — 
they  do  but  sniff  my  bait  and  flirt  it  with  their  wanton 
tails,  plague  take  'em !  But  what  o'  fish  ?  'Tis  not  for 
fish  alone  that  man  fisheth,  for  fishing  begetteth  thought 
and  thought,  dreams  —  and  to  dream  is  oft-times 
sweet ! " 

"  But  —  Benedict,  what  of  the  Abbess  ?  " 

"  The  Abbess  ?  Ha,  the  Abbess,  Beltane !  Sweet  soul, 
she  sleepeth.  At  noon  each  day  needs  must  she  sleep 
since  even  she  is  mortal  and  mortals  must  sleep  now  and 
then.  The  Abbess?  Come  sit  ye,  lad,  what  time  I  tickle 
the  noses  of  these  pestilent  fish.     Sit  ye  here  beside  me 


44^  Beltane  the  Smith 

and  tell  me,  how  think  ye  of  this  noble  and  most  sweet 
lady?" 

"  That,  for  thy  truancy,  she  will  incontinent  mix  thee 
another  sleeping  draught,  Benedict." 

"  Ha  —  then  I'll  never  drink  it !  "  quoth  Sir  Benedict, 
settling  his  shoulder  against  Beltane  and  frowning  at  his 
line.  "Am  I  a  babe,  forsooth,  to  be  dosed  to  slumber? 
Ha,  by  the  foul  fiend  his  black  dam,  ne'er  will  I  drink  it, 
lad !  " 

"  Then  will  she  smile  on  thee,  sad-eyed,  and  set  it  to 
thy  lip,  and  woo  thee  soft-voiced,  so  shalt  thou  swallow 
it  every  drop  — " 

"  Not  so  —  dear  blood  of  all  the  saints !  Must  I  be 
mewed  up  within  an  accursed  bed  on  such  a  day  and  all 
by  reason  of  a  small  axe-stroke?     Malediction,  no!" 

"  She  is  wondrous  gentle  with  the  sick,  Benedict  — " 

"  She  is  a  very  woman,  Beltane,  and  therefore  gentle,  a 
noble  lady  sweet  of  soul  and  body !  To  die  for  such 
were  joyful  privilege,  methinks,  aye,  verily!"  and  Sir 
Benedict,  forgetful  of  his  line,  drooped  his  head  and 
sighed. 

"  And  thou  didst  know  her  well  —  long  years  agone, 
Benedict?" 

"  Aye,  long  —  years  —  agone !  " 

*'  Very  well,  Benedict  ?  " 

«  Very  well." 

"  She  was  '  Yolande  '  then,  Benedict?  " 

"  Aye,"  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  lifting  his  head  with  a 
start  and  looking  at  Beltane  askance,  "  and  to-day  she  is 
the  lady  Abbess  Veronica ! " 

"  That  shall  surely  dose  thee  again  and  — " 

"  Ha  I  bones  and  body  o'  me,  not  so !  For  here  sit  I, 
and  here  angle  I,  fish  or  no  fish,  thunder  o'  God,  yes! 
Aye,  verily,  here  will  I  sit  till  I  have  caught  me  a  fish,  or 
weary  and  go  o'  my  own  free  will  —  by  Beelzebub  I  vow, 
by  Bel  and  the  Dragon  I  swear  it !     And  furthermore  — " 

Sir  Benedict  paused,  tilted  his  head  and  glancing  up, 
beheld  the  lady  Abbess  within  a  yard  of  them.     Gracious 


How  Sir  Benedict  Went  a-Fishing    447 

she  stood  in  her  long  white  habit  and  shook  her  stately 
head  in  grave  rebuke,  but  beholding  his  abashed  look  and 
how  the  rod  sagged  in  liis  loosened  hold,  her  lips  parted 
of  a  sudden  and  her  teeth  gleamed  in  a  smile  wondrous 
young  and  pleasant  to  see. 

"O  Benedict!"  said  she,  "O  child  most  disobedient! 
O  sir  knight !  Is  this  thy  chivalry,  noble  lord  —  to  steal 
away  for  that  a  poor  soul  must  needs  sleep,  being,  alas ! 
so  very  mortal?  " 

"  Forsooth  and  indeed,  dear  my  lady,"  quoth  Sir  Bene- 
dict, fumbling  with  his  angle,  "  the  sun  did  woo  me  forth 
—  and  the  wind,  see  you  —  the  wind  — " 

"  Nay,  I  see  it  not,  my  lord,  but  I  did  hear  something 
of  thy  fearsome,  great  oaths  as  I  came  hither." 

"Oaths,  lady?"  said  Sir  Benedict,  fingering  his  chin. 
"  Forsooth  and  did  I  so  ?  Mayhap  'twas  by  reason  that 
the  fish,  see  you,  the  pestilent  fish  —  Ha!  Saint  Bene- 
dict !  I  have  a  bite !  "  Up  sprang  Sir  Benedict,  quite 
forgetting  his  wounded  arm,  capering  lightly  to  and  fro, 
now  in  the  water,  now  out,  with  prodigious  stir  and  splash 
and  swearing  oaths  galore,  until,  his  pallid  cheek  flushed 
and  bright  eyes  a-dance,  he  had  won  the  fish  into  the 
shallows  and  thence  landed  it  right  skilfully,  where  it 
thrashed  and  leapt,  flashing  in  the  sun. 

"  Ha,  Yolande !  "  he  cried,  "  in  the  golden  days  thou 
wert  ever  fond  of  a  goodly  trout  fresh  caught  and  broiled 
upon  a  fire  of — " 

"  Benedict  I "  cried  the  Abbess,  and,  all  forgetful  of 
his  hurt,  caught  him  by  his  wounded  arm,  "  O  Sir  Bene- 
dict ! "  Now,  man  of  iron  though  he  seemed,  Sir  Bene- 
dict must  needs  start  and  flinch  beneath  her  hold  and 
grow  livid  by  reason  of  the  sharp  pain  of  it ;  whereat  she 
loosed  him  of  a  sudden  and  fell  away,  white  hands  tight 
clasped  together. 

"Ah  Benedict!  —  I  have  hurt  thee  —  again!"  she 
panted. 

"  Not  so,  'twas  when  I  landed  the  fish  —  my  lady 
Abbess!"     Now  at  this  she  turned  away  and  standing 


448 


Beltane  the  Smith 


thus  awhile  very  silent,  presently  raised  her  hand,  whereat 
came  two  of  her  gentle  nuns. 

"  Dear  my  daughters,"  said  she,  "  take  now  Sir  Benedict 
unto  the  camp  and  look  to  his  hurt,  anoint  it  as  ye  have 
seen  me  do.     Go !  " 

Nothing  speaking,  Sir  Benedict  bowed  him  humbly  to 
the  stately  Abbess  and  went  away  between  the  two  white- 
robed  sisters  and  so  was  gone. 

Slowly  the  Abbess  turned  to  Beltane  who  had  risen  and 
was  regarding  her  with  a  new  and  strange  intensity,  and 
meeting  that  look,  her  own  glance  wavered,  sank,  and  she 
stood  awhile  gazing  down  into  the  murmurous  waters ; 
and  as  she  stood  thus,  aware  of  his  deep-searching  eyes, 
into  her  pale  cheek  crept  a  flush  that  deepened  and  ever 
deepened. 

"  My  lord,"  said  she,  very  low  and  placid-seeming,  "  why 
dost  thou  look  on  me  so.''  " 

And  for  all  her  stately  calm,  her  hand,  which  had 
clenched  itself  upon  the  silver  crucifix,  was  woefully 
a-tremble.     "  What  —  is  it  —  my  lord  Beltane  .^^  " 

"  A  thought,  noble  lady." 

"  What  is  thy  thought.?  " 

"  Lady,  'tis  this  —  that,  an  I  might  find  a  mother  such 
as  thee,  then  would  I  pay  her  homage  on  my  knees,  and 
love  her  and  honour  her  for  what  I  do  know  her,  praying 
God  to  make  me  worthy  — !  "  So  saying,  he  came  a  step 
towards  her,  faltered,  stopped,  and  reached  out  appealing 
hands  to  her. 

From  red  to  white  and  from  white  to  red  again  the 
colour  flushed  in  cheek  and  brow  while  the  Abbess  heark- 
ened to  his  words ;  then  she  looked  on  him  with  proud 
head  uplifted  and  in  her  eyes  a  great  and  wondrous  light, 
quick  and  passionate  her  slim  hands  came  out  to  meet 
his  — 

A  sudden  clamour  in  the  air !  A  clash  of  arms !  A 
running  of  swift  feet  and  Walkyn  sprang  betwixt  them, 
his  face  grimed  with  dust  and  sweat,  his  armour  gone,  his 
great  axe  all  bloody  in  his  hand: 


How  Sir  Benedict  Went  a-Fishing    449 

"  Master !  "  he  cried,  "  in  Winisfarne  lieth  Pertolepe 
with  over  a  thousand  of  his  company,  I  judge  —  and  in 
the  woods  'twixt  here  and  Winisfarne  is  Rollo  of  Revels- 
thome  marching  on  us  through  the  woods  with  full  five 
thousand  of  Ivo's  picked  levies,  new  come  from  Barham 
Broom! " 


CHAPTER  LX 

TEIiLETH    HOW    THEY    MARCHED    FROM    THE    VALLEY    OF 

BRAND 

Within  the  camp  was  prodigious  stir,  a  fanfare  of 
trumpets  and  hoarse  commands,  where  archers  and  pike- 
men,  knights  and  men-at-arms  were  mustering;  but  no- 
where was  hurry  or  confusion,  wherefore  Beltane's  heart 
rejoiced  and  he  smiled  glad-eyed  as  he  came  where,  be- 
fore Sir  Benedict  and  the  assembled  council,  stood  Roger 
and  Ulf  with  fifteen  of  their  twenty  men. 

"  Walkyn,"  said  Sir  Benedict,  what  time  his  esquire 
strapped  and  buckled  him  into  his  bright  armour,  "  where- 
abouts do  they  hold  their  march  ?  " 

"  Scarce  twenty  miles  from  here  due  west,  lord." 

"  Ha,  and  they  come  through  the  forest,  ye  say  ? " 
questioned  Sir  Brian,  "  so  shall  they  move  more  slowly, 
methinks." 

"  Why  see  you,  messire,"  said  Walkyn,  "  they  march  by 
way  of  Felindre  that  was  once  a  fair  town,  and  from 
Felindre  is  a  road  that  leadeth  through  the  wild  unto  this 
valley  of  Brand." 

"  So  have  we,  I  judge,  'twixt  six  and  seven  hours," 
quoth  Hacon  of  Trant. 

"  Less,  Hacon,  less !  "  said  Sir  Benedict,  beginning  to 
stride  up  and  down  in  his  clanking  armour,  "  Sir  Rollo 
ever  rideth  with  busy  spur,  and  he  will  doubtless  push  on 
amain  nor  spare  his  men  that  he  may  take  us  unprepared. 
Put  it  at  five  hours,  Hacon,  mayhap  less ! " 

"  'Tis  so  I  pray !  "  said  Beltane,  glancing  towards  the 
glowing  west,  "  and  in  two  hours  it  will  be  dark,  my  lords ! 
Walkyn,  thy  company  doth  lack  for  five,  meseemeth.''  " 


March  from  the  Valley  of  Brand      45  i 

"  Aye,  master  —  for  five ;  two  fell  in  Winisfarne  where 
I  lay  in  bonds ;  other  three  were  slain  in  the  pursuit." 

"  Saw  Sir  Rollo  aught  of  thee?  " 

"  Nay,  lord,  we  lay  well  hid." 

" 'Tis  very  well.     Are  they  many?" 

"  Of  horsemen  I  counted  full  three  thousand,  master." 

"  And  I,  lord,"  quoth  Ulf,  "  did  reckon  over  two  thou- 
sand foot." 

"  'Tis  a  fairish  company !  "  said  Sir  Brian. 

"  And  I  do  lack  my  sword-arm !  "  sighed  Sir  Benedict, 
"  but  my  left  hath  served  me  well  ere  now." 

"  And  Sir  Pertolepe  lieth  yet  in  Winisfarne !  "  said  Bel- 
tane thoughtfully. 

"  Aye,"  nodded  Sir  Benedict,  "  and  shall  march  south 
to  cut  off  our  retreat  if  haply  any  of  us  escape  Sir  Rollo's 
onfall." 

"  So  should  we  strike  camp  and  march  forthright,"  said 
Sir  Brian. 

"March  —  aye,  but  whither?"  questioned  Sir  Hacon. 
"  We  are  threatened  on  two  fronts  and  for  the  rest,  we 
have  the  trackless  wilderness !  Whither  would'st  march, 
Brian?" 

"  South  to  Belsaye,"  answered  Sir  Benedict.  "  South 
through  the  wild  until  we  strike  the  western  road  by 
Thornaby.  I  with  certain  others  will  form  a  rear-guard 
and  hold  Sir  Rollo  in  play  what  time  our  main  body 
presses  on  at  speed." 

"  Ha !  "  quoth  Sir  Hacon,  "  and  what  of  Red  Pertolepe? 
Truly  our  case  is  desperate  methinks,  old  comrade !  " 

"  Why,  'tis  not  the  first  time  we  have  out-faced  des- 
perate odds,  Hacon ! " 

"  Aye,  verily,  Benedict  —  thy  cool  head  and  cunning 
strategy  have  saved  us  from  dungeon  and  death  a  score 
of  times,  but  then  were  we  a  chosen  company,  swift  at 
onfall  or  retreat,  well  mounted  and  equipped  —  to-night 
we  go  hampered  with  our  wounded  and  these  lady  nuns. 
So  is  our  case  desperate,  Benedict,  and  needeth  desperate  ^ 
remedy  — " 


452  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  And  that,  methinks,  I've  found,  messire !  "  quoth  Bel- 
tane, and  rising  up  he  looked  upon  them  all,  his  eye  bright 
with  sudden  purpose.  "  Hark  ye,  my  lords !  Great  and 
valiant  knights  do  I  know  ye,  one  and  all  —  wise  in  ex- 
perience of  battle  and  much  versed  in  warlike  stratagem 
beyond  my  understanding;  but  this  is  the  wild-wood 
where  only  wood-craft  shall  advantage  us.  Within  these 
wilds  your  tactics  shall  avail  nothing  nor  all  your  tramp- 
ling chivalry  —  here  must  be  foresters  that  may  go  silent 
and  unseen  amid  the  leaves,  'neath  whose  trained  feet  no 
twig  shall  snap,  who  smite  unseen  from  brush  and  thicket 
and  being  wise  in  wood-craft  thus  make  the  forest  their 
ally.  And,  lords,  I  am  a  forester;  all  my  days  the  green- 
wood hath  been  my  home,  and  in  my  loneliness  I  made 
the  trees  my  friends.  So,  I  pray  you,  let  me  with  three 
hundred  chosen  foresters  keep  our  rear  to-night,  and  this 
night  the  forest  shall  fight  for  us  and  Sir  Hollo  rue  the 
hour  he  dared  adventure  him  within  the  green.  Messires, 
how  say  you?  " 

"  Why  my  lord,  'tis  very  well !  "  sighed  Sir  Benedict, 
glancing  down  at  his  wounded  arm,  "  I,  for  one,  do  agree 
right  heartily." 

"  And  I !  "  nodded  Sir  Brian. 

"  And  I  also !  "  quoth  Sir  Hacon,  "  though  'tis  a  far 
cry  to  Belsaye  and  I  love  not  to  be  pent  within  walls, 
and  with  Red  Pertolepe  threatening  our  flank  'tis  a  very 
parlous  case,  methinks." 

"  And  thou  art  ever  at  thy  best  where  danger  is, 
Hacon,"  said  Sir  Benedict,  "  so  will  I  give  thee  charge 
of  our  van-ward ! "  Now  hereupon  Sir  Hacon's  gloom 
vanished  and  rising  up,  he  smiled  and  forthwith  did  on  his 
great  war-helm. 

"  Then  it  is  agreed !  "  said  Beltane  and  beckoned  to 
Roger  and  Walkyn ;  quoth  he : 

"  Good  friends,  go  now  and  choose  three  hundred  trusty 
fellows,  skilled  foresters  all ;  look  that  each  doth  bear  flint 
and  steel  for  by  yon  clouds  I  judge  'twill  be  a  dark  night. 
Let  every  fire  within  the  camp  be  quenched  and  the  ground 


March  from  the  Valley  of  Brand      45  3 

well  cooled  with  water,  that  by  the  feel  of  it  none  may 
know  how  long  we  have  removed  —  see  you  to  this,  Ulf." 

Now  when  the  mighty  three  were  gone  about  the  bus- 
iness, their  fifteen  lusty  fellows  at  their  heels,  Beltane 
turned  and  pointed  westward,  and  lo !  the  sun  was  set. 

"  Messires,"  said  he,  "  you  were  wise,  methinks,  to 
mount  and  away  ere  the  night  fall.  To-night,  since  the 
moon  is  hid,  'twill  be  very  dark  amid  the  trees,  therefore 
let  Orson  guide  you  —  he  is  forest-bred  and  well  knoweth 
the  way  to  Thornaby.  Heaven  prosper  jou,  for  in  your 
valiant    keeping   is    the    safety    of  —  of   our    noble    lady 

Abbess and  her  ladies.      So  mount,  my  lords,  press  on 

with  what  speed  ye  may,  and  God  aid  us  this  night  each 
and  every  —  fare  ye  well !  " 

Presently  the  trumpets  sounded  and  forthwith  armour 
was  buckled  on,  horses  saddled,  while  every~where  was  stir 
and  bustle  of  departure,  what  time,  within  his  osier  hut, 
my  Beltane  was  busily  doing  on  his  armour,  and,  being 
in  haste,  making  slow  business  of  it ;  thrice  he  essayed  to 
buckle  a  certain  strap  and  thrice  it  escaped  him,  when 
lo !  came  a  slim  white  hand  to  do  it  for  him,  and  turning, 
he  beheld  the  lady  Abbess.  And  in  her  eyes  was  yet  that 
soft  and  radiant  look,  but  nought  said  she  until  Beltane 
stood  armed  from  head  to  heel,  until  she  had  girt  the 
great  sword  about  him;  then  she  set  her  hands  upon  his 
shoulders : 

"  Beltane,"  said  she  soft-voiced,  "  thou  didst  yearn  for 
thy  mother,  so  is  she  come  to  thee  at  last,  dear  son !  " 
So  saying,  she  drew  him  down  into  her  embrace.  "  O 
Beltane,  son  of  mine,  long,  long  have  I  waited  —  aye,  bit- 
ter, weary  years,  and  oft-times  in  my  sorrow  I  have 
dreamed  of  this  hour  —  the  arms  about  thee  are  thy 
mother's  arms !  " 

Now  fell  Beltane  upon  his  knees  and  caught  those  white 
and  gentle  hands  and  kissed  them ;  quoth  he : 

"  Mother  —  O  dear  my  mother,  ne'er  did  I  know  how 
deep  had  been  my  need  of  thee  until  now.  And  yet,  all 
unknowing,  I  have  yearned  for  thee;  in  my  youth  I  did 


454  Beltane  the  Smith 

love  all  sweet  and  gentle  things  In  thy  stead  —  the  trees, 
the  tender  flowers,  the  murmurous  brooks  —  these  did  I 
love  in  place  of  thee  for  that  mine  heart  did  yearn  and 
hunger  for  a  mother's  tender  love  — "  Here  needs  must 
she  stoop,  all  soft  whispers  and  tender  mother-cries,  to 
kiss  him  oft,  to  lay  her  cheek  upon  his  golden  head  and 
murmur  over  him. 

"  And  thou  wilt  love  thy  mother.  Beltane  —  thou  wilt 
love  thy  unknown  mother  —  now  and  always,  for  that  she 
is  thy  mother?  " 

"  I  will  love  her  and  honour  her  now  and  always,  for 
that  my  mother  is  a  sweet  and  noble  woman !  " 

"  And  thou  didst  need  me.  Beltane,  in  thy  lonely  child- 
hood thou  didst  need  me,  and  I  —  O  God  pity  me  —  I 
was  far  from  thee !  But,  dear  my  son,  because  I  could  not 
cherish  thee  within  these  arms  I  strove  to  love  and  cherish 
all  motherless  children  for  thy  dear  sake  and  to  grieve 
for  all  sorrowing  mothers.  So  builded  I  the  nunnery  at 
Winisfame  and  there  sought  to  bring  solace  and  comfort 
to  desolate  hearts  because  my  heart  was  so  desolate  for 
thee,  my  babe,  my  Beltane.  And  I  have  prayed  unceas- 
ing unto  God,  and  He,  in  His  infinite  mercy,  hath  given 
thee  to  my  arms  again  — " 

A  trumpet  brayed  harsh  and  loud  near  by,  whereat 
those  tender  mother-arms  drew  him  closer  yet  within  their 
sheltering  embrace. 

"  Sweet  son,"  she  sighed,  "  methinks  death  is  very  near 
each  one  of  us  to-night  —  but  I  have  held  thee  to  my  heart, 
have  felt  thy  kisses  and  heard  thy  loving  words  —  now 
if  death  come  how  shall  it  avail  'gainst  such  love  as  ours  ? 
Sir  Benedict  telleth  me  thou  hast  chosen  the  post  of 
danger  —  'tis  so  I  would  have  it,  dear  my  son,  and  thy 
proud  mother's  prayers  go  with  thee  —  God  keep  thee  — 
O  God  keep  thee,  my  Beltane  —  ah,  there  sounds  again  the 
clarion  bidding  me  from  thee !  Kiss  now  thy  mother  fare- 
well, for  alas !  I  must  be  gone !  " 

So  presently  Beltane  brought  the  Abbess  where  stood 
Sir  Benedict  with  an  easy -paced  jennet  for  her  use  and 


March  from  the  Valley  of  Brand      455 

his  company  formed  up  in  column  beyond  the  camp. 
Then  Beltane  lifted  the  lady  Abbess  to  the  saddle  and  with 
her  hand  yet  clasped  in  his,  reached  the  other  to  Sir 
Benedict. 

"  My  lord  of  Bourne,"  said  he,  "  dear  my  friend,  to  thy 
care  I  give  this  lady  Abbess,  Duchess  of  Pentavalon  — 
my  well-beloved  and  noble  mother.  O  Benedict,  no 
prouder  son  than  T  in  all  the  world,  methinks  —  nor  one 
so  humble !  God  send  we  meet  again  anon,  but  now  — 
fare  ye  well ! "  Saying  the  which.  Beltane  caught  his 
mother's  hand  to  his  lips,  and  turning  him  suddenly  about, 
hasted  to  Roger  and  Walkyn  and  the  chosen  three  hun- 
dred. And  in  a  while,  the  nuns  and  wounded  in  their 
midst.  Sir  Benedict's  steel-clad  column  moved  forward  up 
the  slope.  First  rode  Sir  Hacon  and  his  knights  in  the 
van  and  last  Sir  Benedict  with  his  grim  men-at-arms  to 
form  a  rear-ward,  while  archers  and  pikemen  marched 
upon  their  flanks.  With  ring  of  steel,  with  jingle  of 
stirrup  and  bridle-chain  they  swung  away  up  the  slope 
and  plunging  into  the  gloom  of  the  forest  were  gone; 
only  Sir  Benedict  paused  to  turn  in  his  saddle  and  lift 
unwounded  arm  in  salutation  ere  he  too  vanished  into 
the  shadows  of  the  wild-wood.  Awhile  stood  Beltane  be- 
fore the  three  hundred,  his  head  bowed  as  one  in  medita- 
tion until  the  sound  of  voices,  the  ring  and  clash  of  their 
companions'  going  was  died  away;  then  looked  he  at  the 
cloudy  sky  already  deepening  to  evening,  and  round  about 
upon  the  encircling  woods. 

"  The  wind  is  from  the  south,  methinks ! "  said  he. 

"  Aye,  master,"  nodded  Walkyn. 

'*  South-westerly !  "  quoth  Roger. 

Now  came  Beltane  and  looked  upon  his  company,  tall, 
lusty  fellows  they,  whose  bold,  sun-tanned  faces  proclaimed 
them  free  men  of  the  forest-lands ;  and  beholding  their 
hardy  look  Beltane's  eye  brightened. 

*'  Comrades,"  quoth  he,  "  we  be  foresters  all,  and  the 
wild-wood  our  home  and  playground.  But  yonder  from 
the   west    do    march    full   five    thousand    of    Duke    Ivo's 


456 


Beltane  the  Smith 


knights  and  soldiery  men,  they,  of  courts,  of  town  and 
city,  so  now  will  we  teach  them  'tis  an  ill  thing  to  ad- 
venture them  'gainst  trained  foresters  within  the  green. 
List  now  —  and  mark  me  well,  for,  an  our  plan  do  fail, 
there  shall  few  of  us  live  to  see  to-morrow's  sun." 

Then  Beltane  spake  them  plain  and  to  the  point,  in- 
somuch that  when  all  was  said,  these  hardy  foresters 
stood  mute  awhile,  desperate  fellows  though  they  were ; 
then  laughed  they  fierce  and  loud,  and  flourished  sword 
and  bow-stave  and  so  fell  to  clamourous  talk. 

Now  did  Beltane  divide  the  three  hundred  into  five 
companies  of  sixty ;  over  the  first  company  he  set  Walkyn, 
over  the  second,  Roger,  over  the  third,  Ulf,  over  the 
fourth  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford.     Then  spake  he  on  this  wise: 

"  Walkyn,  take  now  these  sixty  good  fellows  and  march 
you  north-westerly  yonder  across  the  valley ;  let  your  men 
lie  well  hid  a  bow-shot  within  the  forest,  but  do  you  stay 
upon  the  verge  of  the  forest  and  watch  for  the  coming  of 
our  foes.  And  when  they  be  come,  'tis  sure  they  will 
plant  outposts  and  sentinels  within  the  green,  so  be  ye 
wary  to  smite  outpost  and  sentinel  suddenly  and  that 
none  may  hear  within  the  camp  nor  take  alarm ;  when  'tis 
done,  cry  you  thrice  like  unto  a  curlew  that  we  may  know. 
Are  all  things  understood?  " 

"  Aye,  lord !  "  they  cried,  one  and  all. 

"  Why  then,  be  ye  cautious  each  and  every,  for,  an  our 
foes  do  take  alarm,  so  shall  it  be  our  death.  March, 
Walkyn  —  away !  " 

Forthwith  Walkyn  lifted  his  axe  and  strode  off  up  the 
slope  until  he  and  his  sixty  men  had  vanished  quite  into 
the  glooming  woods  to  the  north-west. 

"  Jenkyn,  didst  hear  my  commands  to  Walkyn,  so 
shalt  thou  do  also  —  your  post  doth  lie  to  the  east,  yon- 
der." 

"  Aye,  master,  and  look'ee  now  —  my  signal  shall  be 
three  owl-hoots,  master,  look'ee !  " 

So  saying,  Jenkyn  turned,  his  sixty  at  his  heels,  and 


March  from  the  Valley  of  Brand     45  7 

swung  away  until  they  were  lost  to  sight  in  the  woods  to 
the  east. 

"  Ulf  the  Strong,  thy  post  doth  lie  south-westerly,  and 
Roger's  south-easterly;  thus  I,  lying  south,  shall  have 
ye  on  my  left  and  right:  go  get  ye  to  your  places, 
watch  ye,  and  wait  in  patience  for  the  signals,  and  when 
time  for  action  cometh,  be  swift  and  sure." 

Away  marched  Roger  and  Ulf  with  their  companies,  and 
presently  were  gone,  and  there  remained  within  the  little 
valley  only  Beltane  and  his  sixty  men.  Awhile  he  stood 
to  look  to  the  north  and  east  and  west  but  nought  saw 
he  save  the  dense  gloom  of  forest  growing  dark  and  ever 
darker  with  evening.  Then  of  a  sudden  turned  he,  and 
summoning  his  company,  strode  away  into  the  forest  to 
the  south. 

Thus,  as  night  fell,  the  valley  of  Brand  lay  deserted 
quite,  and  no  sound  brake  the  pervading  quiet  save  the 
wind  that  moaned  feebly  through  those  dark  and  solitary 
woods  wherein  Death  lay  hid,  so  very  silent  —  so  very 
patient,  but  Death  in  grim  and  awful  shape. 


CHAPTER  LXI 

HOW    THE    FOREST    FOUGHT    FOE    THEM 

A  HUM  upon  the  night-wind,  lost,  ever  and  anon,  in  wail- 
ing gust,  yet  a  hum  that  never  ceased;  a  sound  that  grew 
and  grew,  loud  and  ever  more  loud  until  it  seemed  to  fill 
the  very  night,  a  dreadful  sound,  ominous  and  threaten- 
ing, a  sound  to  shake  the  boldest  heart  —  the  ring  and 
tramp  of  an  armed,  oncoming  multitude. 

Now,  lying  amid  the  leaves  and  fern  with  Cnut  and 
the  small  man  Prat  beside  him.  Beltane  presently  espied 
certain  figures  moving  in  the  valley  below,  stealthy  figures 
that  were  men  of  Sir  Rollo's  van-ward.  Soft-creeping 
they  approached  the  deserted  camp,  soft-creeping  they 
entered  it;  and  suddenly  their  trumpets  brayed  loud  and 
long,  and,  dying  away,  gave  place  to  the  ring  and  tramp- 
ling thunder  of  the  advancing  host. 

On  they  came,  knights  and  men-at-arms,  rank  upon 
rank,  company  by  company,  until  the  valley  seemed 
full  of  the  dull  gleam  of  their  armour  and  the  air  rang 
loud  with  clash  and  jingle  and  the  trample  of  countless 
hooves.  Yet  still  they  came,  horsemen  and  foot-men,  and 
ever  the  sound  of  them  waxed  upon  the  air,  a  harsh,  con- 
fused din  —  and  ever,  from  the  glooming  woods  above, 
Death  stared  down  on  them. 

And  now  the  trumpets  blew  amain,  lights  flickered  and 
flared,  as  one  by  one,  fires  were  lighted  whose  red  glow 
flashed  back  from  many  a  helm  and  shield  and  breast- 
plate, from  broad  gisarm  and  twinkling  lance-point,  what 
time,  above  the  confused  hum,  above  stamping  hooves  and 
clashing  armour,  voices  shouted  hoarse  commands. 

So,  little  by  little,  from  chaos  order  was  wrought,  pack- 


How  the  Forest  Fought  for  Them    459 

horse  and  charger  were  led  away  to  be  watered  and 
picketed  and  gleaming  figures  sank  wearily  about  the  many 
camp-fires  where  food  was  already  preparing.  In  a  while, 
from  the  stir  of  the  camp,  bright  with  its  many  watch- 
fires,  divers  small  groups  of  men  were  detached,  and,  pike 
and  gisarm  on  shoulder,  began  to  mount  toward  the  for- 
est at  varying  points. 

Hereupon,  Beltane  reached  out  in  the  dark  and  touched 
the  small  man  Prat  the  Archer.     Quoth  he: 

"  Hither  come  their  outposts,  go  now  and  bring  up 
my  company, —  and  bid  them  come  silently  !  " 

Forthwith  Prat  sank  down  among  the  fern  and  was  gone, 
while  Beltane  watched,  keen-eyed,  where  four  men  of  Sir 
Rollo's  outposts  climbed  the  slope  hard  by.  And  one  was 
singing,  and  one  was  cursing,  and  two  were  quarrelling, 
and  all  four.  Beltane  judged,  were  men  aweary  with  long 
marching.  Thus,  singing,  cursing,  quarrelling,  came  they 
to  keep  their  ward  within  these  dark  and  silent  woods, 
crashing  through  the  underbrush  careless  of  their  going 
and  all  unheeding  the  sombre,  stealthy  forms  that  rose  up 
so  silently  behind  them  and  before  from  brush  and  brake 
and  thicket,  creeping  figures  that  moved  only  when  the 
night-wind  moaned  in  the  shivering  leaves. 

Beltane's  dagger  was  out  and  he  rose  up  from  the  fern, 
crouched  and  strung  for  action  —  but  from  the  gloom 
near  by  rose  a  sudden,  strange  flurry  amid  the  leaves,  a 
whimpering  sound  evil  to  hear  and  swiftly  ended,  a  groan, 
a  cry  choked  to  strangling  gasp  and  thereafter  —  silence, 
save  for  the  fitful  wailing  of  the  wind  —  a  long,  breath- 
less pause;  then,  high  and  clear  rose  the  cry  of  an  owl 
thrice  repeated,  and  presently  small  Prat  was  beside  him 
in  the  fern  again. 

*'  Lord,"  said  he  softly,  albeit  panting  a  little,  "  these 
men  were  fools !  We  do  but  wait  our  comrades'  signals 
now,"  And  he  fell  to  cleansing  his  dagger-blade  care- 
fully with  a  handful  of  bracken. 

"  Ha  —  list  ye !  "  whispered  Cnut,  "  there  sounds  Ulf's 
warning,  methinks !  " 


460 


Beltane  the  Smith 


And  from  the  gloom  on  their  left  a  frog  croaked 
hoarsely. 

A  hundred  watch-fires  blazed  in  the  valley  below  and 
around  each  fire  armour  glittered ;  little  by  little  the  great 
camp  grew  to  silence  and  rest  until  nought  was  heard  but 
the  stamp  and  snorting  of  the  many  horses  and  the  cries 
of  the  sentinels  below.  But  ever  dagger  in  hand  Beltane 
strained  eyes  and  ears  northward  across  the  valley,  while 
big  Cnut  bit  his  nails  and  wriggled  beside  him  in  the 
bracken,  and  small  Prat  softly  snapped  his  fingers ;  so 
waited  they  with  ears  on  the  stretch  and  eyes  that  glared 
ever  to  the  north. 

At  last,  faint  and  far  across  the  valley,  rose  the  doleful 
cry  of  a  curlew  thrice  repeated,  the  which  was  answered 
from  the  east  by  the  hooting  of  an  owl,  which  again  was 
caught  up  like  an  echo,  and  repeated  thrice  upon  their 
right. 

Then  Beltane  sheathed  his  dagger. 

"  Look,"  said  he,  "  Cnut  —  Prat,  look  north  and  tell 
me  what  ye  see !  " 

"  Fire,  my  lord !  "  quoth  Prat,  "  Ha  !  it  burneth  well  — 
see,  see  how  it  spreads !  " 

"  And  there  again  —  in  the  east,"  said  Cnut,  "  Oho ! 
Jenkyn  is  busy  —  look,  master !  " 

"  Aye,  and  Roger  too ! "  said  Beltane,  grim-lipped, 
"  our  ring  of  fire  is  well-nigh  complete  —  it  lacketh  but 
for  us  and  Ulf  —  to  work,  then !  " 

Came  the  sound  of  flint  meeting  steel  —  a  sound  that 
spread  along  the  ranks  that  lay  unseen  beyond  Prat  and 
Cnut,  And  behold  —  a  spark  !  a  glow !  a  little  flame  that 
died  down,  leapt  up,  caught  upon  dry  grass  and  bracken, 
seized  upon  crackling  twigs,  flared  up  high  and  ever 
fiercer  —  a  devouring  flame,  hungry  and  yellow-tongued 
that  licked  along  the  earth  —  a  vengeful  flame,  pitiless 
and  unrelenting  —  a  host  of  fiery  demons  that  leapt 
and  danced  with  crackling  laughter  changing  little 
by  little  to  an  angry  roar  that  was  the  voice  of  awful 
doom. 


How  the  Forest  Fought  for  Them    46 1 

Now  of  a  sudden  above  the  hiss  of  flame,  from  the  valley 
of  Brand  a  cry  went  up  —  a  shout  —  a  roar  of  fear  and 
amaze  and  thereafter  rose  a  wild  clamour;  a  babel  in- 
articulate, split,  ever  and  anon,  by  frantic  trumpet-blast. 
But  ever  the  dreadful  hubbub  waxed  and  grew,  shrieks 
and  cries  and  the  screaming  of  maddened  horses  with  the 
awful,  rolling  thunder  of  their  fierce-galloping  hooves ! 

Within  that  valley  of  doom  Death  was  abroad  alread}^, 
Death  in  many  dire  shapes.  Proud  knights,  doughty 
archers  and  men-at-arms  who  had  fronted  death  unmoved 
on  many  a  stricken  field,  wept  aloud  and  crouched  upon 
their  knees  and  screamed  —  but  not  so  loud  as  those  wild 
and  maddened  horses,  that,  bursting  all  bonds  asunder, 
reared  and  leapt  with  lashing  hooves,  and,  choked  with 
rolling  smoke-clouds,  blinded  by  flame,  plunged  headlong 
through  and  over  the  doomed  camp,  wave  upon  wave  of 
wild-flung  heads  and  tossing  manes.  On  they  came,  with 
nought  to  let  or  stay  them,  their  wild  hooves  trampling 
down  hut  of  osier  and  silken  tent,  spurning  the  trembling 
earth  and  filling  the  air  with  flying  clods ;  and  whereso- 
ever they  galloped  there  was  flame  to  meet  them,  so  swerved 
they,  screaming  their  terror  and  fled  round  and  round 
within  the  valley.  So  raced  they  blindly  to  and  fro  and 
back  and  forth,  trampling  down,  maiming  and  mangling 
'neath  reddened,  cruel  hooves  all  and  every  that  chanced 
to  lie  athwart  their  wild  career:  on  and  ever  on  they  gal- 
loped until  sobbing,  panting,  they  fell,  to  be  crushed  'neath 
the  thundering  hooves  behind. 

Within  the  little  valley  of  Brand  Death  was  rife  in 
many  and  awful  shapes  that  no  eye  might  see,  for  the 
many  watch-fires  were  scattered  and  trampled  out;  but 
up  from  that  pit  of  doom  rose  shrieks  and  cries  and  many 
hateful  sounds  —  sounds  to  pierce  the  brain  and  ring 
there  everlastingly. 

Thus  Beltane,  marching  swift  to  the  south  at  the  head 
of  his  three  hundred  foresters,  heard  nought  of  their  joy- 
ful acclaim,  heeded  not  their  triumph,  saw  nought  of 
watchful  Roger's  troubled  glances,  but  went  with  head 


462  Beltane  the  Smith 

bowed  low,  with  pallid  cheek  and  eyes  wide-staring,  for 
he  saw  yet  again  the  fierce  leap  of  those  merciless  flames 
and  in  his  ears  rang  the  screams  and  cries  of  Sir  Rollo's 
proud  chivalry. 


CHAPTER  LXII 

HOW    THEY    CAME    TO    BELSAYE    FOR    THE    THIRD    TIME 

The  sun  was  high  as  they  came  to  the  western  road  that 
led  to  the  ford  at  Thomaby,  but  upon  the  edge  of  the 
forest  Beltane  stopped  of  a  sudden  to  stare  up  at  an 
adjacent  tree. 

"What  is't,  master?"  questioned  Roger,  halting  be- 
side him. 

"  An  arrow  —  and  new-shot  by  the  look  of  it !  "  said 
Beltane,  gloomily. 

"  Aye  master,  and  it  hath  travelled  far  —  see,  it  hath 
scarce  pierced  the  bark !  " 

"  'Twas  shot  from  the-  brush  yonder,  methinks,"  said 
Beltane,  pointing  to  the  dense  underwood  that  skirted  the 
opposite  side  of  the  dusty  highway.  "  Reach  me  it  down, 
Roger !  "  so  saying  Beltane  stooped  and  hove  Roger  aloft 
until  he  could  grasp  and  draw  the  arrow  from  the  tree. 

"  Here  is  no  woodsman's  shaft,  master !  "  quoth  Roger, 
turning  the  missile  over  in  his  hand  ere  he  gave  it  to  Bel- 
tane, "  no  forester  doth  wing  his  shafts  so." 

"  True ! "  nodded  Beltane,  frowning  at  the  arrow. 
'*  Walkyn,  Ulf !  here  hath  been  an  ambushment,  methinks 
—  'tis  a  likely  place  for  such.  Let  our  company  scatter 
and  search  amid  the  fern  hereabouts  — " 

But  even  as  he  spake  came  a  cry,  a  clamour  of  voices, 
and  Prat  the  archer  came  frowning  and  snapping  his 
restless  fingers. 

"  My  lord,"  said  he,  "  yonder  doth  lie  my  good  comrade 
Martin  and  three  other  fellows  of  my  archer-company 
that  marched  with  Sir  Benedict,  and  all  dead,  lord,  slain 
by  arrows  all  four." 

"  Show  me !  "  said  Beltane. 


464 


Beltane  the  Smith 


And  ■when  he  had  viewed  and  touched  those  stark  and 
pallid  forms  that  lay  scattered  here  and  there  amid  the 
bracken,  his  anxious  frown  deepened.  "  These  have  been 
dead  men  full  six  hours !  "  quoth  he. 

"  Aye,  lord,"  says  Prat,  "  and  'tis  unmeet  such  good 
fellows  should  lie  here  for  beasts  to  tear;  shall  we  bury 
them?" 

"  Not  so !  "  answered  Beltane,  turning  away.  "  Take 
their  shafts  and  fall  to  your  ranks  —  we  must  march 
forthright !  " 

Thus  soon  the  three  hundred  were  striding  fast  behind 
Beltane,  keeping  ever  to  the  forest  yet  well  within  bow- 
shot of  the  road,  and,  though  they  travelled  at  speed 
they  went  very  silently,  as  only  foresters  might. 

In  a  while  Beltane  brought  them  to  those  high  wooded 
banks  betwixt  which  the  road  ran  winding  down  to 
Thornaby  Ford  —  that  self-same  hilly  road  where,  upon 
a  time,  the  Red  Pertolepe  had  surprised  the  lawless  com- 
pany of  Gilles  of  Brandonmere ;  and,  now  as  then,  the  dark 
defile  Avas  littered  with  the  wrack  of  fight,  fallen  charges 
that  kicked  and  snorted  in  their  pain  or  lay  mute  and  still, 
men  in  battered  harness  that  stared  up  from  the  dust,  all 
unseeing,  upon  the  new  day.  They  lay  thick  within  the 
sunken  road  but  thicker  beside  the  ford,  and  they  dotted 
the  white  road  beyond,  grim  signs  of  Sir  Benedict's  stub- 
born retreat.  Hereupon  Beltane  halted  his  hard-breathing 
foresters  and  bidding  them  rest  awhile  and  break  their 
fast,  hasted  down  into  the  roadway  with  Walkyn  and 
Cnut  and  Black  Roger. 

"  Aha ! "  cried  Walkyn,  pointing  to  divers  of  the 
slain  that  hampered  their  going,  "  these  be  Pertolepe's 
rogues  — " 

"  Aye,"  quoth  Roger,  throwing  back  his  mail-coif,  "  and 
yonder  lie  four,  five  —  six  of  Sir  Benedict's  good  fellows ! 
It  hath  been  a  dour  fight  hereabouts  —  they  have  fought 
every  yard  of  the  way !  " 

"  Forsooth,"  nodded  Cnut,  "  Sir  Benedict  is  ever  most 
fierce  when  he  retreats,  look  you." 


To  Belsaye  for  the  Third  Time      465 

A  while  stood  Beltane  in  that  dark  defile,  the  which, 
untouched  as  yet  by  the  sun's  level  beams,  struck  dank 
and  chill,  a  place  of  gloom  and  awful  silence  —  so  stood 
he,  glancing  from  one  still  form  to  another,  twice  he 
knelt  to  look  more  closely  on  the  dead  and  each  time  he 
rose  thereafter,  his  brow  was  blacker  and  he  shivered, 
despite  his  mantle. 

"  'Tis  strange,"  said  he,  "  and  passing  strange  that 
they  should  all  lie  dead  —  not  a  living  man  among  them ! 
Hovr  think  you  Roger?  " 

"  I  think,  lord,  others  have  been  here  afore  us.  See 
you  this  knight  now,  his  gorget  loosed  off  — " 

"  O  messire !  "  said  a  faint  voice  hard  by,  "  if  ye  have 
any  pity  save  me  from  the  crone  —  for  the  love  of  Christ 
let  not  the  hag  slay  me  as  she  hath  so  many  —  save  me !  " 

Starting  round.  Beltane  espied  a  pale  face  that  glared 
up  at  him  from  a  thick  furze-bush  beside  the  way,  a  3'outh- 
ful  face  albeit  haggard  and  drawn. 

"  Fear  not !  "  said  Beltane,  kneeling  beside  the  wounded 
youth,  "  thy  life  is  safe  from  us.  But  what  mean  3'ou 
by  talk  of  hag  and  crone?  " 

"  Ah,  messire,  to-day,  ere  the  dawn,  we  fell  upon  Sir 
Benedict  of  Bourne  —  a  seditious  lord  Avho  hath  long 
withstood  Duke  Ivo.  But  though  his  men  were  few  they 
fought  hard  and  gained  the  ford  ahead  of  us.  And  in 
the  fight  I,  with  many  others  as  ye  see,  was  smitten  down 
and  the  fight  rolled  on  and  left  us  here  in  the  dust.  As 
I  laj'',  striving  to  tend  my  hurt  and  hearkening  to  the  sighs 
and  groans  of  the  stricken,  I  heard  a  scream,  and  looking 
about,  beheld  an  ancient  woman  —  busied  with  her  knife 
—  slaying  —  slaying  and  robbing  the  dead  —  ah,  behold 
her  —  with  the  black-haired  archer  —  yonder !  " 

And  verily  Roger  stepped  forth  of  the  underwood  that 
clothed  the  steep,  dragging  a  thing  of  rags  and  tatters, 
a  wretched  creature,  bent  and  wrinkled,  that  mopped  and 
mowed  with  toothless  chaps  and  clutched  a  misshapen 
bundle  in  yellow,  talon-like  fingers,  and  these  yellow  fingers 
were  splotched  horribly  with  dark  stains  even  as  were  the 


466 


Beltane  the  Smith 


rags  that  covered  her.  She  whined  and  whimpered  queru- 
lously, mouthing  inarticulate  plaints  and  prayers  as  Roger 
haled  her  along,  with  Cnut  and  Walkyn,  fierce  and  scowl- 
ing, behind.  Having  brought  her  to  Beltane,  Roger 
loosed  her,  and  wrenching  away  her  bundle,  opened  it,  and 
lo  !  a  yellow-gleaming  hoard  of  golden  neck-chains,  of  rings 
and  armlets,  of  golden  spurs  and  belt-buckles,  the  which 
he  incontinent  scattered  at  Beltane's  feet;  whereon  the 
gibbering  creature  screamed  in  high-pitched,  cracked  and 
ancient  voice,  and,  screeching,  threw  herself  upon  the  gold 
and  fell  to  scrabbling  among  the  dust  with  her  gnarled  and 
bony  fingers ;  and  ever  as  she  raked  and  raked,  she 
screeched  harsh  and  high  —  a  hateful  noise  that  ended, 
of  a  sudden,  in  a  wheezing  sob,  and  sinking  down,  she  lay 
outstretched  and  silent,  her  wrinkled  face  in  the  dust  and 
a  cloth-yard  shaft  transfixing  her  yellow  throat. 

So  swift  had  death  been  dealt  that  all  men  fell  back 
a  pace  and  were  yet  staring  down  at  this  awful  dead 
thing  when  forth  from  the  brush  an  archer  crawled  pain- 
fully, his  bow  yet  in  his  hand,  and  so  lay,  panting  loud 
and  hoarse. 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Cnut,  *'  'tis  lusty  Siward  of  our  archers ! 
How  now,  Siward?  " 

"  I'm  sped,  Cnut !  "  groaned  Siward,  "  but  yon  hag  lieth 
dead,  so  am  I  —  content.  I've  watched  her  slay  John 
that  was  my  comrade,  you'll  mind  —  for  his  armlet.  And 
—  good  Sir  Hugh  she  stabbed, —  yonder  he  lieth  —  him 
she  slew  for  —  spurs  and  chain.  When  I  fell  I  — 
dropped  my  bow  —  in  the  brush,  yonder  —  I  have  been 
two  hours  creeping  —  a  dozen  yards  to  —  reach  my  bow 
but  —  I  got  it  at  last  —  Aha !  "  And  Siward,  feebly 
pointing  to  the  ancient,  dead  woman,  strove  to  laugh  and 
so  —  died. 

Then  Beltane  turned,  and  coming  beside  the  wounded 
youth  spake  him  tender  and  compassionate. 

*'  Young  sir,  we  must  hence,  but  first  can  I  do  aught 
for  thee?" 

"  O  messire,  an  I  might  —  come  to  the  river  —  water !  " 


To  Belsaye  for  the  Third  Time     467 

Saying  no  word,  Beltane  stooped  and  lifting  the  young 
knight  very  carefully,  bore  him  down  toward  the  ford. 

"  Messire,"  quoth  the  young  knight,  stifling  his  groans, 
"  art  very  strong  and  wondrous  gentle  withal !  "  Pres- 
ently Beltane  brought  him  beside  the  river,  and  while  the 
youth  drank,  laid  bare  an  ugly  wound  above  the  knee  and 
bathed  it  with  his  hand,  and,  thereafter,  tearing  a  strip 
from  his  ragged  cloak,  he  bound  it  tight  above  the  hurt, 
(even  as  he  had  seen  Sir  Fidelis  do)  and  thus  stayed  the 
bleeding.  Now  while  this  was  a-doing,  the  young  knight 
must  needs  talk. 

"  Ho !  "  cried  he,  "  'twas  a  good  fight,  messire,  and  he 
who  gave  me  this  was  none  other  than  Benedict  of  Bourne 
himself  —  whom  our  good  Duke  doth  fondly  imagine  pent 
up  within  Thrasfordham !  O  indeed  'twas  Sir  Benedict,  I 
saw  his  hawk-face  plain  ere  he  closed  his  vizor,  and  he 
fought  left-handed.  Moreover,  beside  him  I  recognised 
the  leaping  dog  blazoned  on  the  shield  of  Hacon  of  Trant 
—  Oho,  this  shall  be  wondrous  news  for  Duke  Ivo,  me- 
thinks.  But,  faith,  'tis  wonder  how  he  escaped  Sir  Rollo, 
and  as  for  the  outlaw  Beltane  we  saw  nought  of  him  — 
Sir  Pertolepe  vows  he  was  not  of  this  company  —  mayhap 
Sir  Rollo  hath  him,  'tis  so  I  pray  —  so,  peradventure  I 
shall  see  him  hang  yet !  My  grateful  thanks,  messire,  for 
thy  tender  care  of  me.  At  home  I  have  a  mother  that 
watcheth  and  prayeth  for  me  —  prithee  tell  me  thy  name 
that  she  may  remember  it  in  her  prayers  ?  " 

"  I  am  called  Beltane  the  Outlaw,  sir  knight  —  and  I 
charge  thee  to  heed  that  thy  bandage  slip  not,  lest  the 
bleeding  start  afresh  —  fare  thee  well !  "  So  saying.  Bel- 
tane turned  and  went  on  across  the  ford  what  time  the 
young  knight,  propped  upon  weak  elbow,  stared  after  him 
wide  of  eye  and  mouth. 

Forthwith  Beltane,  setting  horn  to  lip,  sounded  the  rally, 
and  very  soon  the  three  hundred  crossed  the  ford  and 
swung  off  to  the  left  into  the  green. 

Thus,  heartened  and  refreshed  by  food  and  rest,  they 
pressed  on  amain  southward  through  the  forest  with  eyes 


468 


Beltane  the  Smith 


and  ears  alert  and  on  the  strain ;  what  time  grim  Sir  Bene- 
dict, riding  with  his  rearguard,  peered  through  the  dust  of 
battle  but  saw  only  the  threatening  column  of  the  foe  upon 
the  forest  road  behind,  rank  upon  rank  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach,  and  the  dense  green  of  the  adjacent  woods 
on  either  flank  whence  unseen  arrows  whizzed  ever  and 
anon  to  glance  from  his  heavy  armour. 

"  Ha,  Benedict !  "  quoth  Sir  Brian,  "  they  do  know 
thee,  methinks,  'spite  thy  plain  armour — 'tis  the  third 
shaft  hath  struck  thee  in  as  many  minutes !  " 

"  So  needs  must  I  stifle  and  sweat  within  closed  casque !  " 
Sir  Benedict  groaned.  Upon  his  right  hand  Sir  Brian 
rode  and  upon  his  left  his  chiefest  esquire,  and  oft  needs 
must  they  wheel  their  chargers  to  front  the  thunderous 
onset  of  Red  Pertolepe's  fierce  van,  at  the  which  times 
Sir  Benedict  laughed  and  gibed  through  his  vizor  as  he 
thrust  and  smote  left-armed,  parrying  sword  and  lance- 
point  right  skilfully  nevertheless,  since  shield  he  bare 
none.  Time  and  again  they  beat  back  their  assailants 
thus,  until  spent  and  short  of  wind  they  gave  place  to 
three  fresh  knights. 

"  By  Our  Lady  of  Hartismere ! "  panted  Sir  Brian, 
"  but  thy  left  arm  serves  thee  well,  Benedict !  " 

"  'Tis  fair,  Brian,  'tis  fair,  God  be  thanked !  "  sighed 
Sir  Benedict,  eyeing  his  reeking  blade,  "  though  I  missed 
my  thrust  'neath  yon  gentle  knight's  gorget  — " 

"  Yet  shore  clean  through  his  helm,  my  lord !  "  quoth 
young  Walter  the  esquire. 

"  Why  truly,  'tis  a  good  blade,  this  of  mine,"  said  Sir 
Benedict,  and  sighed  again. 

"Art  doleful,  Benedict.?"  questioned  Sir  Brian,"  'tis 
not  like  thee  when  steel  is  ringing,  man." 

"  In  very  sooth,  Brian,  I  hanker  for  knowledge  of  our 
Beltane  —  ha,  Walter !  "  he  cried  suddenly,  "  lower  thy 
vizor,  boy  —  down  with  it,  I  say !  " 

"  Nay,  dear  my  lord,  fain  would  I  breathe  the  sweet, 
cool  air  —  but  a  moment  and  — " 

The  young  esquire  rose  up  stiffly  in  his  stirrups,  threw 


To  Belsaye  for  the  Third  Time      469 

up  gauntleted  hands  and  swaying  from  the  high  saddle, 
pitched  down  crashing  into  the  dust. 

"  Alas !  there  endeth  my  poor  Walter !  "  sighed  Sir 
Benedict. 

"  Aye,  a  shaft  between  the  eyes,  poor  lad !  A  curse 
on  these  unseen  archers !  "  quoth  Sir  Brian,  beckoning 
a  pikeman  to  lead  forward  the  riderless  horse.  "  Ha  — 
look  3'onder,  Benedict  —  we  are  beset  in  flank,  and  by 
dismounted  knights  from  the  underwood.  See,  as  I  live 
'tis  the  nuns  they  make  for !  " 

Nothing  saying.  Sir  Benedict  spurred  forward  beside 
his  hard-pressed  company;  in  the  midst  of  the  column 
was  dire  tumult  and  shouting,  where,  from  the  dense 
woods  upon  their  left  a  body  of  knights  sheathed  in  steel 
from  head  to  foot  were  cutting  their  way  toward  the 
lady  Abbess,  who,  conspicuous  in  her  white  habit,  was 
soothing  her  frightened  palfrey.  All  about  her  a  shout- 
ing, reeling  press  of  Sir  Benedict's  Hght-armed  footmen 
were  giving  back  and  back  before  the  swing  of  pondei-ous 
axe  and  mace  and  sword,  were  smitten  down  and  trampled 
'neath  those  resistless,  steel-clad  ranks. 

"  Ha !  the  Abbess ! "  they  cried,  "  yield  us  the  lady 
Abbess !  "  Into  this  close  and  desperate  affray  Sir  Bene- 
dict spurred,  striving  with  voice  and  hand  to  re-form  his 
broken  ranks,  hewing  him  a  path  by  dint  of  sword  until 
he  had  won  beside  the  Abbess. 

"  Yolande ! "  he  shouted  above  the  din,  "  keep  thou 
beside  me  close  —  close,  Yolande  —  stoop  —  ah,  stoop  thy 
head  that  I  may  cover  thee  —  the  debate  waxeth  a  little 
sharp  hereabouts !  "  Even  as  he  spake  he  reeled  'neath 
the  blow  of  a  heavy  mace,  steadied  himself,  cut  down  his 
smiter,  and  thrust  and  smote  amain  until  the  grim,  fierce- 
shouting  ranks  gave  back  before  the  sweep  of  that  long 
sword. 

"  See,  Yolande !  "  he  panted,  hard-breathing,  "  see  yon- 
der where  my  good  Hacon  spurs  in  to  our  relief  —  ha, 
mighty  lance !  " 

"  Ah,  Benedict,"  cried  the  Abbess,  pale-lipped  but  calm 


47 o  Beltane  the  Smith 

of  eye,  "  of  what  avail?  'Tis  me  they  seek,  though 
wherefore  I  know  not,  so  —  dear  Benedict  —  let  me  go. 
Indeed,  indeed  'tis  best,  so  shall  these  fair  lives  be  saved 
—  ah,  sweet  Jcsu,  'tis  horrible !  See  —  O  see  how  fast 
they  fall  and  die  about  us !  I  must  go  —  I  will  go !  My 
lord,  let  me  pass  —  loose  my  bridle  — " 

A  hunting  horn  fiercelj'^  winded  among  the  woods  hard 
by !  A  confused  roar  of  harsh  voices  and  forth  of  the 
green  four  terrible  figures  sprang,  two  that  smote  with 
long-shafted  axes  and  two  that  plied  ponderous  broad- 
swords ;  and  behind  these  men  were  others,  lean  and  brown- 
faced  —  the  very  woods  seemed  alive  with  them.  And 
from  these  fierce  ranks  a  mighty  shout  rent  the  air: 

"  Arise !     Arise !     Ha,  Beltane  —  Pentavalon  !  " 

Then  did  Sir  Benedict,  laughing  loud  and  jo3^ous,  haste 
to  re-form  his  swaying  ranks,  the  bloody  gap  in  his  column 
closed  up  and  Sir  Pertolepe's  knights,  hemmed  in  thus, 
smote  and  were  smitten  and  but  scant  few  were  they  that 
won  them  free.  And  presently,  through  that  red  confu- 
sion brake  Beltane  with  Roger  and  Ulf  and  Walkyn  at 
his  heels,  and,  sword  in  hand,  he  sprang  and  caught  the 
Abbess  in  a  close  embrace. 

"  Mother !  "  he  cried. 

"  Dear,  dear  son  of  mine  —  and  thou  art  safe.P  Thanks 
be  to  God  who  hath  heard  the  passion  of  thy  mother's 
prayers !  "  Now  Sir  Benedict  turned,  and  wheeling  his 
horse,  left  them  together  and  so  beheld  Sir  Hacon  near 
by,  who,  standing  high  in  his  stirrups,  pointed  to  their 
rear. 

"  Benedict !  "  he  panted,  "  ha,  look  —  Brian  is  over- 
borne !  Ho !  a  rescue  —  a  rescue  to  Sir  Brian  of  Hartis- 
mere !  "  So  shouting,  he  drave  back  into  the  confusion 
of  the  staggering  rear-guard  with  Sir  Benedict  spurring 
behind.  But,  as  Sir  Benedict  rode,  pushing  past  the  files 
of  his  halted  company,  he  felt  hands  that  gripped  either 
stirrup  and  glancing  down  beheld  Ulf  the  Strong  on  his 
one  flank  and  grim  Walkyn  upon  the  other.  So  came 
they  where  the  road  broadened  out  and  where  the  battle 


To  Belsaye  for  the  Third  Time      471 

raged  swaying  and  surging  above  the  fonn  of  Sir  Brian 
prostrate  in  the  dust  where  horsemen  and  footmen  strove 
together  in  desperate  grapple,  where  knightly  shields, 
aflare  with  proud  devices,  rang  'neath  the  blows  of  Bel- 
tane's lusty  foresters  and  Sir  Benedict's  veteran  pike- 
men. 

Then  of  a  sudden  Walkyn  shouted  fierce  and  loud,  and 
sprang  forward  with  mighty  axe  whirled  aloft. 

"Ha  —  Pertolepe,  turn!"  he  roared,  "Ho,  Bloody 
Pertolepe  —  turn,  thou  dog !  'Tis  I  — 'tis  Waldron  of 
Brand !  "  So  cried  he,  and,  plunging  into  the  thick  of 
the  affray,  smote  aside  all  such  as  barred  his  way  until 
he  fronted  Sir  Pertolepe,  who,  astride  a  powerful  mailed 
charger,  wielded  a  bloody  mace,  and  who,  hearing  that 
hoarse  cry,  turned  and  met  the  shearing  axe  with  blazoned 
shield  —  and  behold !  the  gorgeous  shield  was  split  in 
twain;  but  even  so,  he  smote  in  turn  and  mighty  Walkyn 
was  beaten  to  his  knee.  Forth  sprang  Ulf,  swift  and 
eager,  but  Walkyn,  bounding  up,  shouldered  him  aside  — 
his  axe  whirled  and  fell  once,  and  Sir  Pertolepe's  mace  was 
dashed  from  his  loosened  hold  —  whirled  and  fell  again, 
and  Sir  Pertolepe's  great  casque  was  beaten  from  his 
head  and  all  men  might  see  the  ghastly,  jagged  cross  that 
scarred  his  brow  beneath  his  fiery  hair  —  whirled  again, 
but,  ere  it  could  fall,  knights  and  esquires  mounted  and 
afoot,  had  burst  'twixt  Walkyn  and  their  reeling  lord, 
and  Walkyn  was  dashed  aside,  shouting,  cursing,  foam- 
ing with  rage,  what  time  Sir  Pertolepe  was  borne  out  of 
the  fight. 

But  the  rear-guard  was  saved,  and,  with  a  hedge  of 
bristling  pikes  behind.  Sir  Benedict's  sore-battered  com- 
pany marched  on  along  the  forest-road  and  breathed 
again,  the  while  their  pursuers,  staggered  in  their  onset, 
paused  to  re-form  ere  they  thundered  down  upon  that 
devoted  rear-guard  once  more.  But  Sir  Benedict  was 
there,  loud-voiced  and  cheery  still  despite  fatigue,  and 
Sir  Hacon  was  there,  his  wonted  gloom  forgotten  quite, 
and  Beltane  was  there,  equipped  with  shield  and  vizored 


472  Beltane  the  Smith 

war-helm  and  astride  a  noble  horse,  and  there,  too,  was 
Roger,  grim  and  silent,  and  fierce  Ulf,  and  Walkyn  in 
black  and  evil  temper ;  quoth  he : 

"  Ha  — 'tis  ever  so,  his  life  within  my  very  grasp,  yet 
doth  he  escape  me !  But  one  more  blow  and  the  Red 
Pertolepe  had  been  in  hell  — " 

"  Yet,  forsooth,  didst  save  our  rear-guard,  comrade ! " 
said  Ulf. 

"  Aye  —  and  what  o'  that  ?  'Twas  Pertolepe's  foul  life 
I  sought  — " 

"  And  there,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  there  spake  Vengeance, 
and  vengeance  is  ever  a  foul  thing  and  very  selfish !  " 
Now  hereupon  Walkyn's  scowl  deepened,  and,  falling  fur- 
ther to  the  rear,  he  spake  no  more. 

"  Beltane,  dear  my  lad,"  said  Sir  Benedict  as  they  rode 
together,  "  hast  told  me  nought  of  thy  doings  last  night 
—  what  of  Sir  Rollo?" 

"  Nay,  Benedict,  ask  me  not  yet,  only  rest  ye  assured 
Sir  Rollo  shall  not  trouble  us  this  side  Belsaye.  But 
pray,  how  doth  our  brave  Sir  Brian?  " 

"  Well  enough,  Beltane ;  he  lieth  in  a  litter,  being  tended 
by  thy  noble  lady  mother.  A  small  lance-thrust  'neath 
the  gorget,  see'st  thou,  'twill  be  healed  —  Ha,  they  charge 
us  again  —  stand  firm,  pikes  !  "  So  shouting.  Sir  Bene- 
dict wheeled*  his  horse  and  Beltane  with  him,  and  once 
again  the  road  echoed  to  the  din  of  battle. 

Thus  all  day  long  they  fought  their  way  south  along 
the  forest-road,  as,  time  and  again.  Sir  Pertolepe's  heavy 
chivalry  thundered  down  upon  them,  to  check  and  break 
before  that  hedge  of  deadly  pikes.  So  marched  this 
valiant  rear-guard,  parched  with  thirst,  choked  with  dust, 
grim  with  blood  and  wounds,  until,  as  the  sun  sank  west- 
wards, the  woods  thinned  away  and  they  beheld  at  last, 
glad-eyed  and  jo3'ful,  the  walls  and  towers  of  fair  Bel- 
saye town.  Now  just  beyond  the  edge  of  the  woods.  Sir 
Benedict  halted  his  shrunken  column,  his  dusty  pikemen 
drawn  up  across  the  narrow  road  with  archers  behind 
supported  by  his  cavalry  to  hold  Sir  Pertolepe's  powers 


To  Belsaye  for  the  Third  Time      473 

in  check  amid  the  woods  what  time  the  nuns  with  the 
spent  and  wounded  hasted  on  towards  the  city. 

Hereupon  Beltane  raised  his  vizor  and  setting  horn  to 
lip,  sounded  the  rally.  And  lo !  from  the  city  a  glad  and 
mighty  shout  went  up,  the  while  above  the  square  and 
frowning  keep  a  great  standard  arose  and  flapping  out 
upon  the  soft  air,  discovered  a  red  lion  on  a  white  field. 

"  Alia,  Beltane !  "  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  "  yon  is  a  rare- 
sweet  sight  —  behold  thy  father's  Lion  banner  that  hath 
not  felt  the  breeze  this  many  a  year  — " 

"  Aye,  lords,"  growled  Walkyn,"  and  yonder  cometh 
yet  another  lion  —  a  black  lion  on  red !  "  and  he  pointed 
where,  far  to  their  left,  a  red  standard  flaunted  above 
the  distant  glitter  of  a  wide-flung  battle  line. 

"  Hast  good  eyes,  Walkyn !  "  said  Sir  Benedict,  peer- 
ing 'neath  his  hand  toward  the  advancing  host,  "  aye, 
verily  — 'tis  Ivo  himself.  Sir  Pertolepe  must  have  warned 
him  of  our  coming." 

"  So  are  we  like  to  be  crushed  'twixt  hammer  and  an- 
vil," quoth  Sir  Hacon,  tightening  the  lacing  of  his  bat- 
tered casque. 

"  So  will  I  give  thee  charge  of  our  knights  and  men-at- 
anns  —  what  is  left  of  them,  alas !  —  to  meet  Black  Ivo's 
banner,  my  doleful  Hacon !  "  spake  Sir  Benedict. 

"  Nay,  Benedict,"  said  Sir  Hacon,  grim-smiling,  "  my 
dole  is  but  caution !  "  So  saying,  he  closed  his  vizor  and 
rode  away  to  muster  his  chivalry  to  meet  their  new  assail- 
ants the  while  Sir  Benedict  fell  to  re-forming  his  scanty 
ranks  of  pikemen  and  archers.  Meantime  Beltane,  sitting 
his  weary  charger,  glanced  from  Sir  Pertolepe's  deep 
array  of  knights  and  men-at-arms  that  thronged  and 
jostled  each  other  in  the  narrow  forest-road  to  the  distant 
flash  and  glitter  of  Duke  Ivo's  mighty  van-ward,  and  from 
these  again  to  the  walls  of  Belsaye.  And  as  he  looked 
thither  he  saw  the  great  drawbridge  fall,  the  portcullis 
raised,  and  the  gates  flung  wide  to  admit  the  fugitives ; 
even  at  that  distance  he  thought  to  recognise  the  Abbess, 
who  paused  to  turn  and  gaze  towards  him,  as,  last  of  all, 


474  Beltane  the  Smith 

she  rode  to  safety  into  the  city.  Then  my  Beltane  sighed, 
and,  closing  his  vizor,  turned  to  find  Ulf  beside  him  with 
Roger  and  Walkyn,  who  stood  to  watch  the  while  Sir 
Benedict  rode  to  and  fro,  ordering  his  company  for  their 
perilous  retreat  across  the  plain.  Swift  and  silent  his 
war-worn  veterans  fell  to  their  appointed  ranks ;  his  trum- 
pets blew  and  they  began  to  fall  back  on  Belsaye  town. 
Grimly  silent  they  marched,  and  ever  Beltane  gazed  where, 
near  and  ever  more  near,  flashed  and  flickered  Duke  Ivo's 
hard-riding  van-ward. 

And  now  from  the  forest-road  Sir  Pertolepe's  company 
marched,  and  forming  in  the  open,  spurred  down  upon 
them. 

"  Stand  firm,  pikes !  "  roared  Cnut. 

"  Aim  low,  archers !  "  squealed  small  Prat,  and  forth- 
with the  battle  joined. 

The  weary  rear-guard  rocked  and  swayed  beneath  the 
onset,  but  Prat  and  his  archers  shot  amain,  arrows  whis- 
tled while  pike  and  gisarm  thrust  and  smote,  as,  encom- 
passed now  on  three  sides,  they  fell  back  and  back  to- 
wards the  yawning  gates  of  Belsaye;  and  ever  as  he 
fought,  Beltane  by  times  turned  to  watch  where  Duke 
Ivo's  threatening  van-ward  galloped  —  a  long  line  of 
gleaming  shields  and  levelled  lances  gay  with  the  glitter 
of  pennon  and  banderol. 

Back  and  back  the  rear-guard  staggered,  hewing  and 
smiting;  twice  Beltane  reeled  'neath  unseen  blows  and  with 
eyes  a-swim  beheld  Roger  and  Ulf,  who  fought  at  either 
stirrup :  heard  of  a  sudden  shrieks  and  cries  and  the  thun- 
der of  galloping  hooves ;  was  aware  of  the  flash  of  bright 
armour  to  his  left,  rank  upon  rank,  where  charged  Duke 
Ivo's  van-ward  before  whose  furious  onset  Sir  Benedict's 
weary  pikemen  were  hurled  back  —  their  centre  swayed, 
broke,  and  immediately  all  was  dire  uproar  and  confu- 
sion. 

"  Ah,  Beltane  —  these  be  fresh  men  on  fresh  horses,'* 
cried  Sir  Benedict,  "  but  hey  —  body  o'  me  —  all's  not 
lost  yet  —  malediction,  no  !     And  'tis  scarce  half  a  mile 


To  Belsaye  for  the  Third  Time      475 

to  the  gates.  Ha  —  yonder  rides  lusty  Hacon  to  stay 
their  rush  —  in  upon  them,  Beltane  —  Ho,  Pentavalon  !  " 

Shouting  thus,  Sir  Benedict  plunged  headlong  into  the 
raging  fury  of  the  battle ;  but,  as  Beltane  spurred  in  after 
him,  his  weary  charger,  smitten  by  an  arrow,  reared  up, 
screaming,  yet  ere  he  fell.  Beltane,  kicking  free  of  the 
stirrups,  rolled  clear;  a  mighty  hand  plucked  him  to  his 
feet  and  Ulf,  roaring  in  his  ear,  pointed  with  his  dripping 
axe.  And,  looking  whither  he  pointed.  Beltane  beheld 
Sir  Benedict  borne  down  beneath  a  press  of  knights,  but 
as  he  lay,  pinned  beneath  his  squealing  charger,  Beltane 
leapt  and  bestrode  him,  sword  in  hand. 

"  Roger !  "  he  shouted,  "  Ulf  —  Walkyn  —  to  me  !  " 

All  about  him  was  a  swaying  trample  of  horses  and 
men,  an  iron  ring  that  hemmed  him  in,  blows  dinted  his 
long  shield,  they  rang  upon  his  helmet,  they  battered  his 
triple  mail,  they  split  his  shield  in  sunder;  and  'neath  this 
hail  of  blows  Beltane  staggered,  thrice  he  was  smitten 
to  his  knees  and  thrice  he  arose,  and  ever  his  long  blade 
whirled  and  darted. 

"  Yield  thee,  sir  knight  —  yield  thee !  "  was  the  cry. 

"  Ho,  Roger !  "  he  shouted  hoarsely,  "  Ulf  —  Walkyn, 
to  me-!  " 

An  axe  bit  through  his  great  helm,  a  sword  bent  against 
his  stout  mail,  a  knight  spurred  in  upon  him,  blade  lev- 
elled to  thrust  again,  but  Beltane's  deadly  point  darted 
upward  and  the  snorting  charger  plunged  away  —  rider- 
less. 

But  now,  as  he  fought  on  with  failing  arm,  came  a 
joyous  roar  on  his  right  where  Ulf  smote  direly  with 
bloody  axe,  upon  his  left  hand  a  broad-sword  flickered 
where  Roger  fought  silent  and  grim,  beyond  him  again, 
Walkyn's  long  arms  rose  and  fell  as  he  whirled  his  axe, 
and  hard  by  Tall  Orson  plied  goring  pike.  So  fought 
these  mighty  four  until  the  press  thinned  out  and  they 
had  cleared  them  a  space  amid  the  battle,  the  while  Bel- 
tane leaned  him,  spent  and  panting,  upon  his  reeking 
sword. 


476 


Beltane  the  Smith 


Now,  as  he  stood  thus,  from  a  tangle  of  the  fallen  near 
by  a  bent  and  battered  helm  was  lifted  and  Sir  Benedict 
spake,  faint  and  short  of  breath: 

"  'Twas  nobly  done  —  sweet  lad !  'Tis  enough,  me- 
thinks  —  there  be  few  of  us  left,  I  fear  me,  so  —  get  thee 
hence  —  with  such  as  be  alive  —  hence.  Beltane,  for  — 
thy  sweet  mother's  sake.  Nay,  heed  not  —  old  Benedict, 
I  did  my  best  and  — 'tis  a  fitting  couch,  this  —  farewell 
to  thee,  my  Beltane — "  So  saying,  Sir  Benedict  sank 
weakly  to  an  elbow  and  from  elbow  upon  his  face,  and  lay 
there,  very  still  and  mute. 

"  Master  —  master !  "  cried  Roger,  "  we  shall  win  to 
Belsaye  yet,  see  —  see,  Giles  hath  out-flanked  them  with 
his  pikes  and  archers,  and  —  ha!  yonder  good  Eric  o' 
the  Noose  chargeth  them  home !  " 

But  Beltane  leaned  him  upon  his  sword  very  spent  and 
sick,  and  stared  ever  upon  Sir  Benedict's  motionless  form, 
his  harness  bent  and  hacked,  his  proud  helm  prone  in  the 
trampled  ling.  Slowly,  and  with  fumbling  hands,  Beltane 
sheathed  his  sword,  and  stooping,  raised  Sir  Benedict  upon 
his  shoulder  and  strove  to  bear  him  out  of  the  fight,  but 
twice  he  staggered  in  his  going  and  would  have  fallen  but 
for  Roger's  ready  arm. 

"  Master,"  quoth  he,  "  master,  let  me  aid  thee  with 
him !  "  But  nothing  saying,  Beltane  stumbled  on  until 
they  came  where  stood  Ulf  holding  a  riderless  horse,  on 
the  which  he  made  shift  to  mount  with  Roger's  aid ;  there- 
after Ulf  hfted  Sir  Benedict  to  his  hold. 

"  And,  pray  you,"  said  Beltane,  slow  and  blurred  of 
speech,  "pray  you  what  of  noble  Sir  Hacon?" 

"  Alack,  lord,"  growled  Ulf,  "  yonder  is  he  where  they 
lie  so  thick,  and  slain,  methinks, —  yet  will  I  bring  him 
off—" 

"  Aye,  lord,"  cried  Tall  Orson,  great  tears  furrowing 
the  grime  of  his  cheeks,  "  and  little  Prat  do  be  killed  — 
and  lusty  Cnut  do  be  killed  wi'  him  —  and  my  good  com- 
rade Jenkyn  do  lie  smitten  to  death  —  O  there  do  be  none 
of  us  left,  methinks,  lord !  " 


To  Belsaye  for  the  Third  Time     477 

So,  faint  and  heart-sick,  with  Sir  Benedict  limp  across 
his  saddle  bow,  Beltane  rode  from  that  place  of  death; 
beside  him  went  Roger,  stumbling  and  weary,  and  behind 
them  strode  mighty  Ulf  with  Sir  Hacon  upon  his  shoulder. 
In  a  while,  as  they  went  thus.  Beltane,  glancing  back  at 
the  fight,  beheld  stout  Eric  with  the  men  of  Belsaye,  well 
mounted  and  equipped,  at  fierce  grapple  with  Duke  Ivo's 
van-ward,  what  time  Giles  and  his  archers  supported 
by  lusty  pikemen,  plied  Sir  Pertolepe's  weary  forces 
with  whizzing  shafts,  drawing  and  loosing  marvellous 
fast. 

So  came  they  at  last  unto  the  gates  of  Belsaye  town 
that  were  already  a-throng  with  many  wounded  and  divers 
others  of  Sir  Benedict's  company  that  had  won  out  of  the 
affray ;  now  upon  the  drawbridge  Beltane  paused  and 
gave  Sir  Benedict  and  brave  Hacon  into  kindly,  eager 
hands,  then,  wheeling,  with  Ulf  and  Roger  beside  him, 
rode  back  toward  the  battle.  And  ever  as  they  went  came 
scattered  groups  of  Sir  Benedict's  stout  rear-guard,  stag- 
gering with  weariness  and  limping  with  wounds,  the  while, 
upon  the  plain  beyond,  Eric  with  his  men-at-arms  and 
Walkyn  with  the  survivors  of  the  foresters  and  Giles  with 
his  archers  and  pikemen,  holding  the  foe  in  play,  fell  back 
upon  the  town,  compact  and  orderly.  Thus,  they  in  turn 
began  to  cross  the  drawbridge,  archers  and  pikemen,  and 
last  of  all,  the  men-at-arms,  until  only  Eric  o'  the  Noose 
and  a  handful  of  his  horsemen,  with  Beltane,  Roger  and 
Ulf  remained  beyond  the  drawbridge,  whereon  the  enemy 
came  On  amain  and  'neath  their  furious  onset  brave  Eric 
was  unhorsed ;  then  Beltane  drew  sword  and  with  Roger 
and  Ulf  running  at  either  stirrup,  spurred  in  to  the  rescue. 

A  shock  of  hard-smitten  steel  —  a  whirl  and  flurry  of 
blows  —  a  shout  of  triumph,  and,  reeling  in  his  saddle, 
dazed  and  sick.  Beltane  found  himself  alone,  fronting  a 
bristling  line  of  feutred  lances ;  he  heard  Roger  shout  to 
him  wild  and  fearful,  heard  Walkyn  roar  at  him  —  felt 
a  sudden  shock,  and  was  down,  unhelmed,  and  pinned 
beneath  his  stricken  charger.     Half  a-swoon  he  lay  thus, 


478 


Beltane  the  Smith 


seeing  dimly  the  line  of  on-rushing  lance-points,  while  on 
his  failing  senses  a  fierce  cry  smote: 

"  'Tis  Beltane  —  the  Outlaw !  Slay  him !  Slay  him !  " 
But  now  of  a  sudden  and  as  one  that  dreamed,  he  be- 
held a  tender  face  above  him  with  sad-sweet  eyes  and  lips 
that  bent  to  kiss  his  brow,  felt  soft  arms  about  him  — 
tender  arms  that  drew  his  weary  head  upon  a  gentle  bosom 
to  hide  and  pillow  it  there;  felt  that  enfolding  embrace 
tighten  and  tighten  in  sudden  shuddering  spasm,  as,  sigh- 
ing, the  lady  Abbess's  white-clad  arms  fell  away  and  her 
proud  head  sank  beside  his  in  the  dust. 

And  now  was  a  rush  and  roar  of  fierce  voices  as  over 
them  sprang  Roger  and  Giles  with  Ulf  and  Eric,  and, 
amid  the  eddying  dust,  axe  and  sword  swung  and  smote, 
while  came  hands  strong  yet  tender,  that  bare  Beltane 
into  the  city. 

Now  beyond  the  gate  of  the  city  was  a  well  and  beside 
the  well  they  laid  Beltane  and  bathed  him  with  the  sweet 
cool  water,  until  at  length  the  mist  vanished  from  his 
sight  and  thus  he  beheld  the  White  Abbess  who  lay  upon 
a  pile  of  cloaks  hard  by.  And  beholding  the  deadly 
pallor  of  lip  and  cheek,  the  awful  stains  that  spotted  her 
white  robe  and  the  fading  light  in  those  sad-sweet  eyes. 
Beltane  cried  aloud  —  a  great  and  bitter  cry,  and  fell 
before  her  on  his  knees. 

"  Mother !  "  he  groaned,  "  O  my  mother !  " 
"  Dear  my  Beltane,"  she  whispered  faintly,  striving  to 
kiss  his  hand,  "  death  is  none  so  —  painful,  so  grieve  not 
thine  heart  for  me,  sweet  son.  And  how  may  a  mother  — 
die  better  than  for  her  own  —  beloved  son?  Beltane,  if 
God  —  O  if  God  in  His  infinite  mercy  —  shall  think  me 
worthy  —  to  be  —  one  of  His  holy  angels,  then  will  I 
be  ever  near  thee  when  thy  way  proveth  dark  —  to  com- 
fort thee  —  to  aid  thee.  O  dear  my  son  —  I  sought  thee 
so  long  —  so  long  — 'tis  a  little  hard  to  leave  thee  —  so 
soon.  But  —  God's  will  —  fare  thee  well,  I  die  —  aye  — 
this  is  death,  methinks.  Beltane,  tell  thy  father  that  I 
—  O  —  dear  my  —  my  Beltane  — " 


To  Belsaye  for  the  Third  Time     479 

So  died  the  gracious  lady  Abbess  that  had  been  the 
proud  Yolande,  Duchess  of  Pentavalon,  wept  and  be- 
moaned by  full  many  who  had  known  her  tender  care; 
and,  in  due  season,  she  was  laid  to  rest  within  the  fair 
Minster  of  Belsaye.  And  thereafter.  Beltane  took  to  his 
bed  and  abode  there  many  days  because  of  his  wounds 
and  by  reason  of  his  so  great  sorrow  and  heart-break. 

But,  that  night,  through  the  dark  hours  was  strange 
stir  and  hum  beyond  the  walls  of  Belsaye,  and,  when  the 
dawn  broke,  many  a  stout  heart  quailed  and  many  a 
cheek  blanched  to  see  a  great  camp  whose  fortified  lines 
encompassed  the  city  on  all  sides,  where  lay  Ivo  the  Black 
Duke  to  besiege  them. 


CHAPTER  LXIII 

TELLETH    SOMEWHAT    OF    THE    WOES    OF    GILES    o' 
THE    BOW 

Six  days  and  nights  my  Beltane  kept  his  bed,  seeing  and 
speaking  to  no  man ;  and  it  is  hke  he  would  have  died  but 
for  the  fostering  care  of  the  good  Friar  Martin  who  came 
and  went  softly  about  him,  who  watched  and  tended  and 
prayed  over  him  long  and  silently  but  who,  perceiving  his 
heart-sickness,  spake  him  not  at  all.  Day  in  and  day  out 
Beltane  lay  there,  heedless  of  all  but  his  great  sorrow, 
sleeping  little  and  eating  less,  his  face  hid  in  his  pillow  or 
turned  to  the  wall,  and  in  all  this  time  he  uttered  no  word 
nor  shed  a  single  tear. 

His  wounds  healed  apace  but  his  soul  had  taken  a  deeper 
hurt,  and  day  and  night  he  sorrowed  fiercely  for  his  noble 
mother,  wherefore  he  lay  thus,  heeding  nought  but  his  great 
grief.  But  upon  the  seventh  night,  he  dreamed  she  stood 
beside  his  couch,  tall  and  fair  and  gracious,  and  looked 
down  on  him,  the  mother-love  alight  within  her  sweet,  sad 
eyes.  Now  within  her  hand  she  bare  his  sword  and  showed 
him  the  legend  graven  upon  the  bright  steel: 

RESUEGAM 

And  therewith  she  smiled  wondrous  tender  and  put  the 
great  weapon  into  his  grasp ;  then  stooped  and  kissed  him, 
and,  pointing  upward  with  her  finger,  was  gone. 

And  now  within  his  sleep  his  anguished  heart  found  so- 
lacement  in  slow  and  burning  tears,  and,  sleeping  yet,  he 
wept  full  bitterly,  insomuch  that,  sobbing,  he  awoke.  And 
lo !  beneath  his  right  hand  w^as  the  touch  of  cold  steel  and 
his  fingers  clenched  tight  upon  the  hilt  of  his  great  sword. 

Then  my  Beltane  arose  forthwith,  and  finding  his  clothes 
near  by,  clad  himself  and  did  on  his  mail,  and,  soft-tread- 


of  the  Woes  of  Giles  o'  the  Bow    481 

ing,  went  forth  of  his  narrow  chamber.  Thus  came  he 
where  Friar  Martin  lay,  deep-breathing  in  his  slumber, 
and  waking  him  not,  he  passed  out  into  the  dawn.  And 
in  the  dawn  was  a  gentle  wind,  very  cool  and  grateful,  that 
touched  his  burning  brow  and  eyes  like  a  caress ;  now  look- 
ing up  to  heaven,  where  stars  were  paling  to  the  dawn.  Bel- 
tane raised  the  hilt  of  his  sword  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  O  blessed  mother !  "  he  whispered,  "  God  hath  surely 
found  thee  worthy  to  be  one  of  His  holy  angels,  so  hast 
thou  stooped  from  heaven  to  teach  to  me  my  duty.  Thus 
now  will  I  set  by  my  idle  grieving  for  thee,  sweet  saint,  and 
strive  to  live  thy  worthy  son  —  O  dear  my  mother,  who, 
being  dead,  yet  liveth !  " 

Then  Beltane  sheathed  his  sword  and  went  softly  up  the 
narrow  stair  that  led  to  the  battlements. 

It  was  a  bleak  dawn,  full  of  a  thick,  low-lying  mist  be- 
yond the  walls,  but  within  this  mist,  to  north  and  south  and 
east  and  west,  was  a  faint  stir,  while,  ever  and  anon,  rose 
the  distant  cry  of  some  sentinel  within  Duke  Ivo's  sleeping 
camp,  a  mighty  camp  whose  unseen  powers  held  the  fair 
city  in  deadly  grip.  In  Belsaye  nothing  stirred  and  none 
waked  at  this  dead  hour  save  where,  high  on  the  bartizan 
above  the  square  and  mighty  keep,  the  watchman  paced 
to  and  fro,  while  here  and  there  from  curtain  wall  and 
massy  tower,  spear-head  and  bascinet  gleamed. 

Slow  and  light  of  foot  Beltane  climbed  the  narrow  stair 
that  led  up  to  one  of  the  two  square  towers  that  flanked 
the  main  gate,  but,  being  come  thither,  he  paused  to  behold 
Giles,  who  chancing  to  be  captain  of  the  watch,  sat  upon 
a  pile  of  great  stones  beside  a  powerful  mangonel  or 
catapult  and  stared  him  dolefully  upon  the  lightening  east : 
full  oft  sighed  he,  and  therewith  shook  despondent  head 
and  even  thus  fell  he  to  soft  and  doleful  singing,  groaning 
to  himself  'twixt  each  verse,  on  this  wise: 

"  She  will  not  heed  her  lover's  moan. 
His  moped  tear,  his  deep-fetched  groan^ 
So  doth  he  sit,  and  here  alone 

Sing  willow! 


482  Beltane  the  Smith 

("  With  three  curses  on  this  foul  mist!) 

"  The  little  fishes,  fishes  woo, 

Birds  blithe  on  bough  do  bill  and  coo, 

But  lonely  I,  with  sad  ado 

Sing  willow !  " 

("  And  may  Saint  Anthony's  fire  consume  Bernard,  the 
merchant's  round,  plump  son!) 

"  Tis  sure  a  maid  was  made  for  man, 
'Twas  e'en  so  since  the  world  began. 
Yet  doleful  here,  I  only  can 

Sing  willow !  " 

("And  may  the  blessed  saints  have  an  eye  upon  her 
tender  slumbers !  ") 

Here  Giles  paused  to  sigh  amain,  to  fold  his  arms,  to 
cross  his  legs,  to  frown  and  shake  gloomy  head;  having 
done  the  which,  he  took  breath  and  sang  again  as  fol- 
loweth :  — 

"  Alack-a-day,  alas  and  woe ! 
Would  that  Genevra  fair  might  know 
'Tis  for  her  love  Giles  of  the  Bow 

Sings  willow !  " 

But  now,  chancing  to  turn  and  espy  Beltane,  Giles 
fell  suddenly  abashed,  his  comely  face  grew  ruddy  'neath 
its  tan  and  he  sprang  very  nimbly  to  his  feet : 

"  Ha,  tall  brother  —  good  brother,"  he  stammered, 
*'  noble  lord,  God  den  to  ye  —  hail  and  good  morrow ! 
Verily  and  in  faith,  by  Saint  Giles  (my  patron  saint, 
brother)  I  do  rejoice  to  see  thee  abroad  again,  as  will  our 
surly  Rogerkin  that  doth  gloom  and  glower  for  thee  and 
hath  hung  about  thy  chamber  door  morn  and  noon  and 
night,  and  our  noble  Sir  Benedict  and  Walkyn  —  but  none 
more  unfeignedly  than  Giles  that  doth  grow  glad  because 
of  thee  — " 

"  That  is  well,"  quoth  Beltane,  seating  himself  upon  the 
battlement,  "  for  verily  thy  song  was  vastly  doleful, 
Giles!" 


of  the  Woes  of  Giles  o'  the  Bow    483 

"  My  song,  lord,  my  song?  Ha  —  hum !  O  verily,  my 
song  is  a  foolish  song  or  the  song  of  a  fool,  for  fool  am  I, 
forsooth  —  a  love-lorn  fool ;  a  doleful  fool,  a  very  fool  of 
fools,  that  in  my  foolish  folly  hath  set  his  foolish  heart 
on  thing  beyond  reach  of  such  base  fool  as  I.  In  a  word, 
tall  brother,  I'm  a  fool,  videlicet  —  a  lover !  " 

"  Truly,  hast  the  speech  and  outward  seeming  of  j^our 
approved  lover,  Giles,"  nodded  Beltane. 

"  Aye,  verily !  "  sighed  Giles,  "  aj^e,  verily  —  behold  my 
beard,  I  have  had  no  heart  to  trim  it  this  sennight  t 
Alack,  I  —  I  that  was  so  point-de-vice  am  like  to  become 
a  second  Diogenes  (a  filthy  fellow  that  never  washed  and 
lived  in  a  foul  tub!).  As  for  food,  I  eat  no  more  than  the 
chameleon  that  doth  fill  its  belly  with  air  and  nought  else, 
foolish  beast !  I,  that  was  wont  to  be  a  fair  figure  of  a 
man  do  fall  away  to  skin  and  bone,  daily,  hourly,  minute 
by  minute  —  behold  this  leg,  tall  brother !  "  And  Giles 
thrust  out  a  lusty,  mailed  limb.  "  Here  was  a  leg  once  — ■ 
a  proper  shapely  leg  to  catch  a  woman's  eye  —  see  how 
it  hath  shrunk,  nay,  faith,  'tis  hidden  in  mine  armour ! 
But  verily,  my  shanks  will  soon  be  no  thicker  than  my  bow- 
stave  !  Lastly  I  —  I  that  loved  company  and  good  cheer 
do  find  therein  abomination  these  days,  so  do  I  creep,  like 
moulting  fowl,  brother,  to  corners  dark  and  dismal  and 
there  make  much  ado  —  and  such  is  love,  O  me !  " 

"  Doth  the  maid  know  of  thy  love?  " 

"  Nay  lord,  good  lack,  how  should  she?  —  who  am  I  to 
speak  of  it?  She  is  a  fair  lady  and  noble,  a  peerless  virgin, 
while  I  —  I  am  only  Giles  —  poor  Giles  o'  the  Bow,  after 
all!" 

"  Truly,  love  is  teaching  thee  wisdom,  Giles,"  said  Bel- 
tane, smiling. 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  my  wisdom  teacheth  me  this  —  that 
were  I  the  proudest  and  noblest  in  the  land  yet  should  I 
be  unworthy !  "  and  Giles  shook  miserable  head  and  sighed 
again  full  deep. 

"Who  is  she,  Giles?" 

"  She  is  Genevra,  daughter  to  the  Reeve !    And  the  Reeve 


484  Beltane  the  Smith 

is  a  great  man  in  Belsaye  and  gently  bom,  alas !  And 
with  coffers  full  of  good  broad  pieces.  O  would  she  were 
a  beggar-maid,  the  poorest,  the  meanest,  then  might  I  woo 
her  for  mine  own.  As  it  is,  I  can  but  look  and  sigh  —  for 
speak  me  her  I  dare  not  —  ha,  and  there  is  a  plump  fel- 
low !  "  Here  Giles  clenched  bronzed  fist.  "  A  round  and 
buxom  fellow  he,  a  rich  merchant's  son  doth  woo  her  boldly, 
may  speak  with  her,  may  touch  her  hand!  So  do  I  oft- 
times  keep  him  shooting  at  the  butts  by  the  hour  together 
and  therein  do  make  me  some  small  amend.  Yet  daily  do  I 
mope  and  pine,  and  pine  and  mope  —  O  tall  brother,  a  most 
accursed  thing  is  this  love  —  and  dearer  than  my  life, 
heigho !  " 

"  Nay,  pluck  up  thy  heart,  thou'rt  a  man,  Giles." 

"  Aye,  verily,  but  she  is  a  maid,  brother,  therein  lieth 
vasty  difference,  and  therefore  do  I  fear  her  for  her  very 
sweetness  and  purity  —  fear  her.?  Faith,  my  knees  do 
knock  at  sound  of  her  voice,  her  very  step  doth  set  me 
direly  a-tremble.  For  she  is  so  fair  —  so  pure  and  nigh 
the  angels,  that  I  —  alack !  I  have  ever  been  a  something 
light  fellow  in  matters  of  love  —  forget  not  I  was  bred  a 
monk,  noble  brother !  Thus,  brother,  a  moping  owl,  I  —  a 
very  curst  fellow,  gloomy  and  silent  as  the  grave,  saving 
my  breath  for  sighs  and  groans  and  curses  fell,  wherefore 
I  have  builded  me  a  '  mockery  '  above  the  wall  and  there- 
from do  curse  our  foes,  as  only  a  churchman  may, 
brother." 

"  Nay,  how  mean  you,  Giles  ?  "  questioned  Beltane,  star- 
ing. 

"  Follow  me,  lord,  and  I  will  show  thee !  "  So  saying, 
Giles  led  the  way  down  to  the  battlement  above  the  great 
gates,  where  was  a  thing  like  unto  a  rough  pulpit,  builded 
of  massy  timbers,  very  stout  and  strong,  and  in  these  tim- 
bers stood  many  arrows  and  cross-bow  bolts. 

"  Here,  lord,"  quoth  Giles,  "  behold  my  *  mockery ' 
wherefrom  it  is  my  wont  and  custom  to  curse  our  foes 
thrice  daily.  The  which  is  a  right  good  strategy,  brother, 
in  that  my  amorous  anguish  findeth  easement  and  I  do  draw 


of  the  Woes  of  Giles  o'  the  Bow    485 

the  enemy's  shafts,  for  there  is  no  man  that  heareth  my 
contumacious  dictums  but  he  forthwith  falleth  into  rageful 
fury,  and  an  angry  fellow  shooteth  ever  wide  o'  the  mark, 
brother.  Thus,  thrice  daily  do  we  gather  a  full  sheaf  of 
their  ill-sped  shafts,  whereby  we  shall  not  lack  for  arrows 
an  they  besiege  us  till  Gabriel's  trump  —  heigho !  Thus 
do  I  live  by  curses,  for,  an  I  could  not  curse,  then  would 
my   surcharged   heart   assuredly   in   sunder   burst  —  aye 


me 


I '» 


Now  whiles  they  sat  thus  in  talk,  up  rose  the  sun,  before 
whose  joyous  beams  the  stealthy  mists  slunk  away  little 
by  little,  until  Beltane  beheld  Duke  Ivo's  mighty  camp  — 
long  lines  of  tents  gay  with  fluttering  pennon  and  gon- 
falon, of  huts  and  booths  set  well  out  of  bowshot  behind 
the  works  of  contravallation  —  stout  palisades  and  bar- 
riers with  earthworks  very  goodly  and  strong.  And  pres- 
ently from  among  these  booths  and  tents  was  the  gleam 
and  glitter  of  armour,  what  time  from  the  waking  host  a 
hum  and  stir  arose,  with  blare  and  fanfare  of  trumpet  to 
usher  in  the  day :  and  in  a  while  from  the  midst  of  the  camp 
came  the  faint  ring  and  tap  of  many  hammers. 

Now  as  the  mists  cleared,  looking  thitherward.  Beltane 
stared  wide-eyed  to  behold  wooden  towers  in  course  of 
building,  with  the  grim  shapes  of  many  powerful  war-en- 
gines whose  mighty  flying-beams  and  massy  supporting- 
timbers  filled  him  with  great  awe  and  wonderment. 

"  Ha ! "  quoth  Giles,  "  they  work  apace  yonder,  and  by 
Saint  Giles  they  lack  not  for  engines ;  verily  Black  Ivo  is  a 
master  of  siege  tactics  —  but  so  is  Giles,  brother !  See 
where  he  setteth  up  his  mangonels,  trebuchets,  perriers  and 
balistas,  with  bossons  or  rams,  towers  and  cats,  in  the  use 
of  the  which  he  is  right  cunning  —  but  so  also  is  Giles, 
brother!  And  verily,  though  your  mangonels  and  trebu- 
chets are  well  enough,  yet  for  defence  the  balista  is  weapon 
more  apt,  methinks,  as  being  more  accurate  in  the  shooting 
and  therefore  more  deadly  —  how  think  you,  lord?  " 

"  Indeed  Giles,  being  a  forester  I  could  scarce  tell  you 
one  from  another." 


486 


Beltane  the  Smith 


«  Ha  —  then  you'll  know  nought  of  their  nature  and 
use,  lord?  " 

"  Nought,   Giles.     Ne'er  have   I   seen   their  like  until 
now." 

"  Say  ye  so,  brother?  "  cried  Giles  full  eager,  his  brown 
eyes  a-kindle,  "  say  ye  so  in  very  truth  ?  Then  —  an  it 
be  so  thy  wish  —  I  might  instruct  thee  vastly,  for  there  is 
no  man  in  the  world  to-day  shall  discourse  you  more  fluent 
and  learned  upon  siege-craft,  engines  and  various  tormenta 
than  I.  So  —  an  it  be  thy  wish,  lord  — ?  " 
"  It  is  my  wish :  say  on,  Giles." 

"  Why  then  firstly,  lord,  firstly  we  have  the  great  Man- 
gon  or  mangonel,  fundis  fundibida,  that  some  do  also  term 
catapultum,  the  which  worketh  by  torsion  and  shall  heave 
yon  great  stones  of  the  bigness  of  a  man  fully  two  hun- 
dred yards  an  it  be  dry  weather;  next  is  the  Trebuchet, 
like  to  the  mangon  save  that  it  swingeth  by  counterpoise ; 
next  Cometh  the  Balista  or  Springald  that  worketh  by  ten- 
sion —  a   pretty   weapon !   and   shall   shoot  you   dart   or 
javelin  so  strong  as  shall  transpierce  you  six  lusty  fellows 
at  a  time,  hauberk  and  shield,  like  so  many  fowl  upon  a  spit 
—  very  sweet  to  behold,  brother  !     Then  have  we  the  Bore 
or  Cat  that  some  again  do  name  miiscidus  or  mouse  for  that 
it  gnaweth  through  thick  walls  —  and  some  do  call  this 
hog,  sow,  scrofa  or  sus,  brother,  and  some  again,  vulpes. 
And  this  Cat  is  a  massy  pole  that  beareth  a  great  and  sharp 
steel  point,  the  which,  being  mounted  within  a  pent-house, 
swingeth  merrily  to  and  fro,  much  like  to  a  ram,  brother, 
and  shall  blithely  pick  you  a  hole  through  stone  and  mor- 
tar very  pleasing  to  behold.     Then  we  have  the  Ram,  can- 
cer testudo,  that  battereth;  next  we  have  the  Tower  or 
Beffroi  that  goeth  on  wheels  —  yonder  you  shall  see  them 
a-building.     And   these   towers,   moving   forward   against 
your  city,  shall  o'ertop  the  walls  and  from  them  archers 
and  cross-bowmen  may  shoot  into  your  town  what  time 
their  comrades  fill  up  and  dam  your  moat  until  the  tower 
may  come  close  unto  your  walls.     And  these  towers,  being 
come  against  the  wall,  do  let  fall  drawbridges  over  which 


of  the  Woes  of  Giles  o'  the  Bow    487 

the  besiegers  may  rush  amain  and  carry  your  walls  by  as- 
sault. Lastly,  there  be  Mantlets  —  stakes  wattled  to- 
gether and  covered  with  raw-hide  —  by  the  which  means 
the  besiegers  make  their  first  approaches.  Then  might  I 
descant  at  goodly  length  upon  the  Mine  and  Furnace,  with 
divers  and  sundry  other  stratagems,  devices,  engines  and 
tormenta,  but  methinks  this  shall  mayhap  suffice  thee  for 
the  nonce?  " 

"  Aye,  verily  —  'twill  suffice !  "  said  Beltane,  rising. 
"  Truly  war  is  even  more  terrible  than  I  had  thought." 

"  Why  lord,  'tis  an  art  —  a  notable  art  and  —  ha !  this 
doth  mind  me  of  my  heart,  heigho!  And  of  all  terrible 
things,  of  all  the  woes  and  ills  man-hearts  may  know  is  — 
love.     O  me,  alack  and  woe !  " 

"  When  doth  thy  watch  end,  Giles?  " 

"  It  ended  an  hour  agone,  but  to  what  end?  Being  a 
lover  I  sleep  little  and  pine  much,  and  this  is  a  fair  good 
place  and  solitary,  so  will  I  pine  awhile  and  likewise  mope 
and  languish,  alack !  " 

So  presently,  as  Beltane  descended  the  stair,  he  heard 
the  archer  break  forth  again  in  doleful  song. 

Across  the  wide  market-square  went  Beltane,  with  brow 
o'ercast  and  head  low-bowed  until  he  came  to  one  of  the 
many  doors  of  the  great  minster;  there  paused  he  to  re- 
move bascinet  and  mail-coif,  and  thus  bareheaded,  entered 
the  cathedral's  echoing  dimness.  The  new-risen  sun  made 
a  glory  of  the  great  east  window,  and  with  his  eyes  uplifted 
to  this  many-coloured  glory,  Beltane,  soft-treading,  crossed 
dim  aisle  and  whispering  transept ;  but,  as  he  mounted  the 
broad  steps  of  the  sanctuary  he  paused  with  breath  in 
check,  for  he  heard  a  sound  —  a  soft  sound  like  the  flutter 
of  wings  or  the  rustle  of  silken  draperies.  Now  as  he  stood 
thus,  his  broad,  mail-clad  shoulders  and  golden  hair  bathed 
in  the  refulgence  of  the  great  window,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
from  somewhere  near  there  breathed  a  sigh,  tremulous  and 
very  soft,  and  thereafter  was  the  quick,  light  tread  of  feet, 
and  silence. 

A  while  stood  Beltane  scarce  breathing,  then,  slow  and 


488 


Beltane  the  Smith 


reverent,  he  approached  the  high  altar ;  and  ever  as  he  went 
was  a  fragrance,  wonder-sweet,  that  grew  stronger  and 
stronger  until  he  was  come  behind  the  high  altar  where  was 
his  mother's  grave.  And  lo !  upon  that  long,  white  stone 
lay  flowers  a-bloom,  roses  and  lilies  whose  dewy  loveliness 
filled  the  place  with  their  pure  and  fragrant  sweetness. 
So  looked  he  round  about  and  upon  these  flowers  with 
grateful  wonder,  and  sinking  to  his  knees,  bowed  his  head 
and  folded  his  hands  in  prayer. 

But  presently,  as  he  knelt  thus,  he  was  roused  by  the 
clank  of  steel  and  a  shuffling  step,  wherefore  he  arose  and 
crossing  to  the  shadows  of  the  choir,  sat  him  down  within 
the  deeper  gloom  to  wait  until  his  disturber  should  be 
gone.  Slowly  these  halting  steps  advanced,  feet  that  stum- 
bled oft ;  near  they  came  and  nearer,  until  Beltane  per- 
ceived a  tall  figure  whose  armour  gleamed  dully  and  whose 
shoulders  were  bowed  like  one  that  is  feeble  or  very  weary. 

"  Yolande ! "  said  a  voice,  a  hoarse  voice  but  very  ten- 
der, "  Yolande,  beloved !  "  And  on  the  word  the  voice 
broke  and  ended  upon  a  great  sob,  swift  followed  by  an- 
other and  yet  another,  the  fierce  sobbing  of  a  man. 

Then  Beltane  clenched  his  hands  and  rose  up,  for  be- 
hold !  this  man  was  Sir  Benedict.  But  now,  and  very  sud- 
denl}^.  Sir  Benedict  was  upon  his  knees,  and  bent  and  kissed 
that  white,  smooth  stone  whereon  as  yet  was  no  inscription. 

"  Yolande !  "  he  whispered,  "  now  thou  art  one  among  the 
holy  angels,  O  forget  not  thy  most  unworthy  Benedict. 
God  —  O  God  t  Father  to  whom  all  hearts  are  open.  Thou 
dost  know  how  as  child  and  maid  I  loved  her,  how  as  a 
wife  I  loved  her  still  —  how,  in  my  madness,  I  spake  my 
love  —  and  she,  being  saint  and  woman,  bade  me  to  my 
duty.  So,  by  her  purity,  kept  she  my  honour  un- 
stained — " 

Beltane's  long  scabbard  struck  the  carven  panelling,  a 
soft  blow  that  yet  echoed  and  re-echoed  in  vaulted  arch  and 
dim  roof,  and,  glancing  swiftly  up.  Sir  Benedict  beheld 
him. 

And  kneeling  thus  beside  the  grave  of  the  woman  he  had 


of  the  Woes  ot  Giles  o'  the  Bow    489 

loved,  Sir  Benedict  looked  up  into  Beltane's  face  with  eyes 
wide,  eyes  unflinching  but  dimmed  with  great  grief  and 
pain. 

Quoth  he,  finn-voiced: 

"■  My  lord,  thou  hast  learned  my  life's  secret,  but,  ere 
thou  dost  judge  me,  hear  this !  Long  ere  thy  princely 
father  met  thy  mother,  we  loved,  she  and  I,  and  in  our  love 
grew  up  together.  Then  came  the  Duke  thy  father,  a 
mighty  lord ;  and  her  mother  was  ambitious  and  very  guile- 
ful—  and  she  —  but  a  maid.  Thus  was  she  wed.  Then 
rode  I  to  the  foreign  wars  seeking  death  —  but  death  took 
me  not.  So,  the  wars  ended,  came  I  home  again,  burning 
ever  with  my  love,  and  sought  her  out,  and  beholding  the 
sadness  in  her  eyes  I  spake  my  love;  and  forgetful  of 
honour  and  all  save  her  sweet  soul  and  the  glory  of  her 
beauty,  I  tempted  her  —  aye,  many  times  !  —  tempted  her 
in  fashion  merciless  and  cruel  insomuch  that  she  wept  many 
bitter  tears,  and,. upon  a  day,  spake  me  thus:  '  Benedict, 
'tis  true  I  loved  thee,  for  thou  wert  a  noble  knight  —  but 
now,  an  thy  love  for  me  be  so  small  that  thou  canst  bring 
me  to  this  shame,  then  —  take  me  where  thou  wilt  —  but 
— '  ne'er  shall  all  thy  love  nor  all  my  tears  thereafter 
cleanse  us  from  the  shame  of  it.'  Thus  went  I  from  her, 
nor  have  I  looked  on  woman  since.  So  followed  I  thy 
father  in  all  his  warring  and  all  my  days  have  I  fought 
much  —  fierce  foes  within  me  and  without,  and  lived  —  a 
very  solitary  life.  And  to-day  she  lieth  dead  —  and  I  am 
here,  old  and  worn,  a  lonely  man  and  sinful,  to  be  judged 
of  as  ye  will." 

Then  came  Beltane  and  looked  down  into  Sir  Benedict's 
pale,  sad  face.  And  beholding  him  thus  in  his  abasement, 
haggard  with  wounds  and  bowed  with  grief,  needs  must 
Beltane  kneel  also  and  thereafter  spake  thus: 

"  Sir  Benedict,  who  am  I,  to  judge  of  such  as  thou?  " 

"  I  tempted  her  —  I  wooed  her  to  shame,  I  that  loved 
her  beyond  life  —  did  cause  her  many  bitter  tears  — 
alas !  " 

"  Yet  in  the  end,  Sir  Benedict,  because  thy  love  was  a 


490  Beltane  the  Smith 

great  and  noble  love,  thou  didst  triumph  over  base  self. 
So  do  I  honour  thee  and  pray  that  I,  in  like  case,  may  act 
as  nobly." 

"  And  now  —  she  lieth  dead !  So  for  me  is  life  ended 
also,  methinks !  " 

"  She  is  a  saint  in  heaven,  Benedict,  Kving  forever.  As 
to  thee,  on  whose  skill  and  valiance  the  safety  of  this  fair 
city  doth  hang  ■ —  so  hath  God  need  of  thee  here,  methinks. 
So  now  for  thy  sake  and  for  her  sake  needs  must  I  love  thee 
ever  and  always,  thou  noble  knight.  She,  being  dead,  yet 
liveth  and  shall  go  betwixt  us  henceforth,  drawing  us  to- 
gether in  closer  bonds  of  love  and  amity  —  is  it  not  so, 
dear  my  friend  ?  "  And  speaking.  Beltane  reached  out  his 
hands  across  his  mother's  narrow  grave,  and  straightway 
came  Sir  Benedict's  hands,  swift  and  eager,  to  meet  and 
clasp  them. 

For  a  while  knelt  they  thus,  hand  clasping  hand  above 
that  long,  white  stone  whence  stole  to  them  the  mingled 
fragrance  of  the  flowers,  like  a  silent  benediction.  And 
presently,  together  they  arose  and  went  their  way;  but 
now,  seeing  how  Sir  Benedict  limped  by  reason  of  his 
wounds.  Beltane  set  an  arm  about  him.  So  came  they  to- 
gether out  of  the  shadows  into  the  glory  of  the  morning. 

Now  as  they  came  forth  of  the  minster,  the  tocsin  rang 
loud  in  sudden  alarm. 


CHAPTER  LXIV 

HOW  GILES   CURSED   BELSAYE   OUT   OF  HEU   FEAR 

Within  the  market-place  all  was  dire  confusion ;  men 
hasted  hither  and  thither,  buckling  on  armour  as  they 
went,  women  wept  and  children  wailed,  while  ever  the  bell 
clashed  out  its  fierce  summons. 

Presently,  through  the  populace  cometh  Sir  Brian  of 
Hartismere,  equipped  in  his  armour  and  leaning  on  the 
mailed  arm  of  his  brother  Eric  of  the  wry  neck,  but  per- 
ceiving Sir  Benedict  and  Beltane,  they  turned  and  came  up 
forthwith. 

"  Eric  —  Brian,  what  meaneth  the  tumult?  "  questioned 
Sir  Benedict,  his  eye  kindling,  "  are  we  attacked  —  so 
soon.''  " 

"  Not  so,"  answered  Sir  Brian,  "  at  the  least  —  not  by 
Ivo's  men." 

"  'Tis  worse  than  that,"  sighed  Eric,  shaking  his  head, 
"  yonder  cometh  a  churchman,  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  his 
monks,  and  with  choristers  and  acolytes  attendant." 

"  Ha !  "  said  Sir  Benedict,  frowning  and  rubbinp;  his 
chin,  "  I  had  dreaded  this !  The  citizens  do  shake  and 
shiver  already,  I'll  warrant  me!  There  is  nought  like  a 
cowl  with  bell,  book  and  candle  to  sap  the  courage  of  your 
citizen  soldier.     Let  us  to  the  walls !  " 

In  a  corner  hard  by  the  main  gate  they  beheld  Giles, 
holding  forth  to  Roger  and  Walkyn  and  Ulf,  but  perceiv- 
ing Sir  Benedict  he  ceased  abruptly,  and  advancing,  sa- 
luted the  noble  company  each  in  turn,  but  addressed  him- 
self to  Sir  Benedict. 

"  My  lord,"  quoth  he,  eyes  a-dance,  "  yonder  cometh  a 
pompous  prior  that  was,  not  very  long  since,  nought  but 
massy  monk  that  did  upon  a  time  (though  by  dint  of  some 


492  Beltane  the  Smith 

small  persuasion)  bestow  on  me  a  goodly  ass.  My  lord, 
I  was  bred  a  monk,  so  do  I  know,  by  divers  signs  and  por- 
tents, he  Cometh  here  to  ban  the  city  with  book,  bell  and 
candle,  wherefore  the  townsfolk,  fearing  greatly,  do  shiver 
and  shake,  especially  the  women  and  maids  —  sweet  souls ! 
And,  lord,  by  reason  of  the  matter  of  the  ass,  I  do  know  this 
priest  prolific  of  damnatory  pronouncements  and  curses 
contumacious  (O  verily).  Yet  I,  messire  (having  been 
bred  a  monk)  shall  blithely  him  out-curse,  an  the  joy  be 
permitted  me,  thus  turning  tears  to  laughter  and  gloomy 
fear  to  loud-voiced  merriment  —  my  lord,  messires,  how 
say  you?  " 

"  'Tis  blasphemy  unheard !  "  quoth  Sir  Brian. 

"  Save  in  the  greenwood  where  men  do  breathe  God's 
sweet  air  and  live  free !  "  said  wry-necked  Eric. 

"  And,"  spake  Sir  Benedict,  stroking  his  square  chin, 
"  there  is  a  fear  can  be  quelled  but  by  ridicule,  so  may  thy 
wit,  sir  archer,  avail  more  than  our  wisdom  —  an  thou 
canst  make  these  pale-cheeked  townsfolk  laugh  indeed. 
How  think  you,  my  Beltane?  " 

"  That  being  the  wise  and  valiant  knight  thou  art,  Sir 
Benedict,  thy  will  during  the  siege  is  law  in  Belsaye,  hence- 
forth." 

Now  hereupon  Giles  made  his  obeisance,  and  together 
with  Roger  and  Walkyn  and  Ulf,  hasted  up  to  the  battle- 
ment above  the  gateway. 

"  Benedict,"  said  Sir  Brian  as  they  climbed  the  turret 
stair,  "  blasphemy  is  a  dread  and  awful  thing.  We  shall 
be  excommunicate  one  and  all  —  better  methinks  to  let  the 
populace  yield  up  the  city  and  die  the  death,  than  perish 
everlastingly !  " 

"  Brian,"  quoth  Sir  Benedict  pausing,  something  breath- 
less by  reason  of  his  recent  sickness,  "  I  tell  thee  fire  and 
pillage  and  ravishment  of  women  is  a  thing  more  dread 
and  awful  —  better,  methinks,  to  keep  Innocence  pure  and 
unspotted  while  we  may,  and  leave  hereafter  in  the  hands 
of  God  and  His  holy  angels !  " 

Upon  the  tower  there  met  them  the  Reeve,  anxious  of 


Belsaye  Cursed  Out  of  Her  Fear     493 

brow,  who  pointed  where  the  townsfolk  talked  together  in 
fearful  undertones  or  clustered,  mute  and  trembling,  while 
every  eye  was  turned  where,  in  the  open,  'twixt  town  and 
camp,  a  procession  of  black-robed  priests  advanced,  chant- 
ing very  solemn  and  sweet. 

"  My  lords,"  said  the  Reeve,  looking  round  with  hag- 
gard eyes,  "  an  these  priests  do  come  to  pronounce  the 
Church's  awful  malediction  upon  the  city  —  then  woe  be- 
tide !  Already  there  be  many  —  aye,  some  of  our  chiefest 
citizens  do  fear  the  curse  of  Holy  Church  more  than  the 
rapine  of  Ivo's  vile  soldiery,  fair  women  shamed,  O  Christ ! 
Lords  —  ha,  messires,  there  is  talk  afoot  of  seizing  the 
gates,  of  opening  to  this  churchman  and  praying  his  in- 
tercession to  Ivo's  mercy  —  to  Ivo  the  Black,  that  know- 
eth  nought  of  mercy.  Alas,  my  lords,  once  they  do  ope 
the  gates  — " 

"  That  can  they  in  nowise  do !  "  said  Sir  Benedict  gently, 
but  with  face  grim  and  hawk-like.  "  Every  gate  is  held 
by  stout  fellows  of  my  own  following,  moreover  I  have  good 
hope  yon  churchman  may  leave  us  yet  uncursed."  And 
Sir  Benedict  smiled  his  wry  and  twisted  smile.  "  Be  you 
our  tongue,  good  Reeve,  and  speak  this  churchman  as  thy 
bold  heart  dictateth." 

Solemn  and  sweet  rose  the  chanting  voices  growing  ever 
more  loud,  where  paced  the  black-robed  priests.  First 
came  acolytes  swinging  censers,  and  next,  others  bearing 
divers  symbolic  flags  and  standards,  and  after  these  again, 
in  goodly  chair  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  brawny  monks, 
a  portly  figure  rode,  bedight  in  full  canonicals,  a  very  solid 
cleric  he,  and  mightily  round ;  moreover  his  nose  was  bulb- 
ous and  he  had  a  drooping  lip. 

Slow  and  solemn  the  procession  advanced,  and  ever  as 
they  came  the  choristers  chanted  full  melodiously  what 
time  the  white-robed  acolytes  swung  their  censers  to  and 
fro ;  and  ever  as  they  came,  the  folk  of  Belsaye,  from  wall 
and  turret,  eyed  these  slow-pacing,  sweet-singing  monks 
with  fearful  looks  and  hearts  cold  and  full  of  dire  mis- 
giving. 


494  Beltane  the  Smith 

Beyond  the  moat  over  against  the  main  gate,  the  pro- 
cession halted,  the  chair  with  its  portly  burden  was  set 
down,  and  lifting  up  a  white,  be-ringed  hand,  the  haughty 
cleric  spake  thus,  in  voice  high-pitched,  mellifluous  and 
sweet : 

"  Whereas  it  hath  pleased  ye,  O  rebellious  people  of 
Belsaye,  to  deny,  to  cast  off  and  wantonly  repudiate  your 
rightful  allegiance  to  your  most  just,  most  merciful  and 
most  august  lord  —  Ivo,  Duke  of  Pentavalon  (whom  God 
and  the  saints  defend  —  amen !)  and  whereas  ye  have  more- 
over made  captive  and  most  barbarously  entreated  certain 
of  your  lord  Duke  his  ambassadors  unto  you  sent ;  now 
therefore  —  and  let  all  ears  be  opened  to  my  pronounce- 
ments, since  Holy  Church  doth  speak  ye,  one  and  all,  each 
and  every  through  humble  avenue  of  these  my  lips  —  list, 
list,  O  list,  rebellious  people,  and  mark  me  well.  For  inas- 
much as  I,  Prior  of  Holy  Cross  within  Pentavalon  City,  do 
voice  unto  ye,  one  and  all,  each  and  ever}^,  the  most  sacred 
charge  of  Holy  Church,  her  strict  command  or  enactment, 
mandate  or  caveat,  her  holy  decree,  senatus  considtum,  her 
writ,  edict,  precept  or  decretal,  namely  and  to  wit:  That 
ye  shall  one  and  all,  each  and  every,  return  to  your  right- 
ful allegiance,  bowing  humbly,  each  and  every,  to  the  will 
of  your  lawful  lord  the  Duke  (whom  God  and  the  saints 
defend")  and  shall  forthwith  make  full  and  instant  surren- 
der of  this  his  ancient  city  of  Belsaye  unto  your  lord  the 
Duke  (whom  God  and  the  saints  defend  —  amen!)  Fail- 
ing the  which,  I,  in  the  name  of  Holy  Church,  by  power  of 
papal  bull  new  come  from  Rome  —  will,  here  and  now,  pro- 
nounce this  most  rebellious  city  (and  all  that  therein  be) 
damned  and  excommunicate !  " 

Now  hereupon,  from  all  the  townsfolk  crowding  wall  and 
turret  a  groan  went  up  and  full  many  a  ruddy  cheek  grew 
pale  at  this  dire  threat.  Whereupon  the  Prior,  having 
drawn  breath,  spake  on  in  voice  more  stern  and  more  per- 
emptory : 

"  Let  now  your  gates  unbar !  Yield  ye  unto  your  lord 
Duke  his  mercy !     Let  the  gates  unbar,  I  say,  lest  I  blast 


Belsay 


e  Cursed  Out  of  Her  Fear     495 


this  wicked  city  with  the  most  dread  and  awful  ban  and 
curse  of  Holy  Church  —  woe,  woe  in  this  life,  and,  in  the 
life  to  come,  torment  and  everlasting  fire!  Let  the  gates 
unbar ! " 

Now  once  again  the  men  of  Belsaye  sighed  and  groaned 
and  trembled  in  their  armour,  while  from  crowded  street 
and  market-square  rose  buzz  of  fearful  voices.  Then 
spake  the  Reeve  in  troubled  tones,  his  white  head  low- 
stooped  above  the  battlement. 

"  Good  Prior,  I  pray  you  an  we  unbar,  what  surety  have 
we  that  this  our  city  shall  not  be  given  over  to  fire  and 
pillage  and  ravishment?  " 

Quoth  the  Prior: 

"  Your  lives  are  your  lord's,  in  his  hand  resteth  life  and 
death,  justice  and  mercy.  So  for  the  last  time  I  charge 
ye  —  set  wide  your  rebellious  gates !  " 

"  Not  so !  "  cried  the  Reeve,  "  in  the  name  of  Justice 
and  Mercy  ne'er  will  we  yield  this  our  city  until  in  Belsaye 
no  man  is  left  to  strike  for  maid  and  wife  and  child !  " 

At  the  which  bold  words  some  few  men  shouted  in  ac- 
claim, but  for  the  most  part  the  citizens  were  mumchance, 
their  hearts  cold  within  them,  while  all  eyes  stared  fear- 
fully upon  the  Prior,  who,  lifting  white  hand  again,  rose 
up  from  cushioned  chair  and  spake  him  loud  and  clear: 

"  Then,  upon  this  rebellious  city  and  all  that  therein  is, 
on  babe,  on  child,  on  youth,  on  maid,  on  man,  on  wife,  on 
the  hale,  the  sick,  the  stricken  in  years,  on  beast,  on  bird, 
and  on  all  that  hath  life  and  being  I  do  pronounce  the 
church's  dread  curse  and  awful  ban :  —  ex  — " 

The  Prior's  mellifluous  voice  was  of  a  sudden  lost  and 
drowned  in  another,  a  rich  voice,  strong  and  full  and 
merry : 

"  Quit  —  quit  thy  foolish  babblement,  thou  fat  and 
naughty  friar;  too  plump  art  thou,  too  round  and  buxom 
to  curse  a  curse  as  curses  should  be  cursed,  so  shall  thy 
curses  avail  nothing,  for  who  doth  heed  the  fatuous  ful- 
minations  of  a  fat  man?  But  as  to  me,  I  could  have  out- 
cursed  thee  in  my  cradle,  thou  big-bellied  thing  of  empti- 


496 


Beltane  the  Smith 


ness  —  go  to  for  a  sounding  brass  and  tinkling  cymbal !  " 

Thus,  from  his  "  mockery  "  perched  high  above  the  bat- 
tlement, spake  Giles,  with  many  and  divers  knowing  ges- 
tures of  arm,  waggings  of  the  head,  rollings  of  the  eyes  and 
the  like,  what  time  Roger  and  Walkyn  and  Ulf ,  their  heads 
bent  close  together,  busied  themselves  above  a  great  and 
bulging  wine-skin. 

And  now  on  wall  and  tower  and  market-square  a  great 
silence  had  fallen,  yet  a  silence  broken  now  and  then  by 
sound  of  stijfled  laughter,  while  the  Prior,  staring  in 
wonder  and  amaze,  suddenly  clenched  white  fist,  and,  albeit 
very  red  and  fiery  of  visage,  strove  whole-heartedly  to 
curse  on: 

"  Ha  —  now  upon  the  lewd  populace  of  this  most  ac- 
cursed and  rebellious  city  do  I  call  down  the  — " 

"  Upon  thy  round  and  barrel-like  paunch,"  cried  Giles, 
"  do  I  pronounce  this  dire  and  dreadful  ban,  videlicet.  Sir 
Fatness,  nota  bene  and  to  wit :  may  the  fiend  rend  it  with 
gruesome  gripings  —  aye,  rend  it  with  claws  and  beak, 
ungmbus  et  rostro,  most  mountainous  monk !  " 

Here,  once  again  came  sounds  of  stifled  merriment,  what 
time  the  Prior,  puffing  out  his  fat  cheeks,  fell  to  his  curses 
f  ull-tongued : 

"  Upon  this  evil  city  be  the  malison  of  Holy  Church,  her 
maledictions  bitter,  her  imprecation  and  anathema.  I  do 
pronounce  all  within  this  city  ex  — " 

"  Abate  thee,  friar,  abate ! "  roared  Giles,  "  cease  thy 
rumbling,  thou  empty  wine-butt.  An  thou  must  deal  in 
curses,  leave  them  to  one  more  apt  and  better  schooled  — 
to  Giles,  in  faith,  who  shall  forthwith  curse  thee  sweet  and 
trippingly  as  thus  —  now  mark  me,  monk !  Aroint,  aroint 
thee  to  Acheron  dark  and  dismal,  there  may  the  foul  fiend 
seize  and  plague  thee  with  seven  and  seventy  plaguey  sor- 
rows !  May  Saint  Anthony's  fire  frizzle  and  fry  thee  — 
woe,  woe  betide  thee  everlastingly — (bate  thy  babble, 
Prior,  I  am  not  ended  yet!)  In  life  may  thou  be  accursed 
from  heel  to  head,  within  thee  and  without  —  ( save  thy 
wind.  Prior,  no  man  doth  hear  or  heed  thee!)     Be  thou 


Belsaye  Cursed  Out  of  Her  Fear     497 

accursed  in  father  and  in  mother,  in  sister  and  in  brother, 
in  oxen  and  in  asses  —  especially  in  asses !  Be  thou  ac- 
cursed in  sleeping  and  in  waking,  eating  and  drinking, 
standing,  sitting,  lying  —  O  be  thou  accursed  completely 
and  consumedly !  Here  now,  methinks,  Sir  Monkish  Tun- 
belly,  is  cursing  as  it  should  be  cursed.  But  now  —  (hush 
thy  vain  babbling,  heed  and  mark  me  well!)  — now  will  I 
to  dictums  contumacious,  from  cursing  thee  I  will  to  song 
of  thee,  of  thy  plump  and  pertinacious  person  —  a  song 
wherein  shall  pleasant  mention  be  o'  thy  round  and  goodly 
paunch,  a  song  that  shall  be  sung,  mayhap,  when  thee  and 
it  are  dusty  dust,  O  shaveling  —  to  wit : 

"  O  frater  fat  and  flatulent,  full  foolish,  fatuous  Friar 

A  prime  plump  priest  in  passion  seen,  such  pleasure  doth  in- 
spire. 

That  sober  souls,  'spite  sorrows  sad,  shall  sudden  shout  and 
sing 

Because  thy  belly  big  belittleth  baleful  ban  ye  bring. 

Wherefore  with  wondrous  wit  withal,  with  waggish  wanton 
wiles, 

I  joyful  chant  to  glorify  the  just  and  gentle  Giles." 

And  now  behold!  fear  and  dread  were  forgotten  quite, 
and  wheresoever  Beltane  looked  were  men  who  bent  and 
contorted  themselves  in  their  merriment,  and  who  held  their 
laughter  yet  in  check  to  catch  the  archer's  final  ^7ords. 

"  Thus,  thou  poor  and  pitiful  Prior,  for  thy  rude  speech 
and  curses  canonical  we  do  requite  thee  with  song  sweet- 
sung  and  of  notable  rhyme  and  metre.  Curse,  and  Bel- 
saye shall  out-curse  thee;  laugh,  and  Belsaye  laugheth  at 
thee  — " 

"  Sacrilege !  "  gasped  the  Prior,  "  O  'tis  base  sacrilege ! 
'Tis  a  vile,  unhallowed  city  and  shall  go  up  in  flame  — " 

*'  And  thou,"  cried  Giles,  "  thou  art  a  fiery  churchman 
and  shall  be  cooled.     Ho,  Rogerkin  —  loose  off !  " 

Came  the  thudding  crash  of  a  powerful  mangonel, 
whose  mighty  beam,  swinging  high,  hurled  aloft  the  bulg- 
ing wine-skin,  the  which,  bursting  in  mid-air,  deluged  with 


498 


Beltane  the  Smith 


water  all  below  —  prior  and  monk,  acolyte  and  chorister ; 
whereat  from  all  Belsaye  a  shout  went  up,  that  swelled  to 
peal  on  peal  of  mighty  laughter,  the  while,  in  stumbling 
haste,  the  dripping  Prior  was  borne  by  dripping  monks 
back  to  Duke  Ivo's  mighty  camp.  And  lo!  from  this 
great  camp  another  sound  arose,  a  roar  of  anger,  fierce 
and  terrible  to  hear,  that  smote  Belsaye  to  silence.  But, 
out  upon  the  battlement,  plain  for  all  folk  to  see,  sprang 
Giles  flourishing  his  six-foot  bow. 

"  Archers !  "  he  cried,  "  archers,  ye  hear  the  dogs  bay 
yonder  —  fling  back  their  challenge ! 

"  Ho,  archers !  shout  and  rend  the  skies. 
Bold  archers  shout  amain, 
Belsaye,  Belsaye  —  arise,  arise ! 
Pentavalon  —  Beltane !  " 

Then  from  tower  and  turret,  from  wall  and  keep  and 
market-square  a  great  and  joyous  shout  was  raised  —  a 
cry  fierce  and  loud  and  very  purposeful,  that  rolled  afar : 
"  Arise,  arise  !  —  ha.  Beltane  —  Pentavalon !  " 
"  Beltane,"  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  smiling  his  wry  smile 
as  he  turned  to  descend  the  tower,  "  methinks  yon  roguish 
archer's  wit  hath  served  us  better  than  all  our  wisdom. 
Belsaye  hath  frighted  away  fear  with  laughter,  and  her 
men,  methinks,  will  fight  marvellous  well !  " 


CHAPTER  LXV 

TELLETH   OF   ROSES 

A  PAIR  and  strong  city  was  Belsaye,  for  (as  hath  been 
said)  to  north  and  east  of  it  the  river  flowed,  a  broad 
stream  and  deep,  while  south  and  west  it  was  fortified  by 
a  goodly  moat;  wherefore  it  was  to  south  and  west  that 
the  besiegers  mustered  their  chief  force  and  set  up  their 
mightiest  engines  and  towers.  Day  in,  day  out,  man- 
gonel, trebuchet  and  balista  whirred  and  crashed  from 
keep  and  tower  and  curtain-wall,  while  from  every  loop- 
hole and  crenelle  long-bows  twanged  and  arrows  flew ;  yet 
with  each  succeeding  dawn  the  besiegers'  fence-works  crept 
nearer,  closing  in  upon  the  city  until,  within  close  bow- 
shot of  the  walls,  they  set  up  earthworks  and  stockades 
and  from  these  strong  barriers  plied  the  defenders  with 
cloth-yard  shaft  and  cross-bow  bolt  what  time  their  mighty 
engines  advanced,  perriers  and  rams  wherewith  to  batter 
and  breach  the  city's  massy  walls. 

So  day  in,  day  out,  Eric's  chosen  men  plied  trebuchet 
and  balista,  and  Beltane,  beholding  the  dire  havoc  wrought 
by  heavy  stone  and  whizzing  javelin  among  the  dense 
ranks  of  the  besiegers  despite  their  mantlets  and  stout 
palisades,  grew  sick  at  times  and  was  fain  to  look  other- 
where. But  the  besiegers  were  many  and  Duke  Ivo  had 
sworn  swift  destruction  on  Belsaye;  thus,  heedless  of  all 
else,  he  pushed  on  the  attack  until,  despite  their  heavy 
losses,  his  men  were  firmly  established  close  beyond  the 
moat;  wherefore  my  Beltane  waxed  full  anxious  and  was 
for  sallying  out  to  destroy  their  works :  at  the  which, 
gloomy  Sir  Hacon,  limping  in  his  many  bandages,  grew 
suddenly  jovial  and  fain  was  to  call  for  horse  and  lance 
forthwith. 


500  Beltane  the  Smith 

Quoth  Sir  Benedict  placidly : 

*'  Nay,  let  them  come,  messires ;  they  are  a  sea,  but 
Belsaye  is  a  rock.  Duke  Ivo  is  cunning  in  war,  but  is, 
mark  me!  a  passionate  man,  and  he  who  fighteth  in  blind 
anger,  fighteth  ill.  So  let  them  come,  I  say  the  time  for 
us  to  beware  is  when  Ivo's  hot  temper  shall  have  cooled. 
Ha,  look  yonder ! "  and  Sir  Benedict  pointed  where  a 
great  wooden  tower,  urged  forward  by  rope  and  pulley 
and  winch,  was  creeping  near  and  nearer  the  walls,  now 
stopping  jerkily,  now  advancing,  its  massy  timbers  pro- 
tected from  fire  by  raw  hides,  its  summit  bristling  with 
archers  and  cross-bow  men,  who  from  their  lofty  post 
began  to  sweep  wall  and  turret  with  their  whizzing  shafts. 

"  Now  mark  yon  tower,"  said  Sir  Benedict,  closing  his 
vizor,  "  here  shall  be  good  sport  for  Eric's  perriers  — ' 
watch  now !  "  and  he  nodded  where  on  the  battlement  be- 
low, crouched  Eric  with  Walkyn  and  Roger  who  laboured 
at  the  winches  of  a  great  trebuchet  hard  by.  To  left  and 
right  on  wall  and  turret,  Eric  glanced,  then  blew  a  blast 
upon  the  horn  he  carried ;  and  immediately,  from  wall  and 
turret  mangonels,  trebuchets  and  balistae  unknown  of 
until  now  crashed  and  whirred,  and  the  tall  tower  shook 
and  quivered  'neath  the  shock  of  great  stones  and  heavy 
bolts,  its  massy  timbers  were  split  and  rent,  insomuch  that 
it  was  fain  to  be  withdrawn. 

Thereafter  the  besiegers  brought  up  a  long  pent-house 
or  cat  unto  the  edge  of  the  moat,  and  sheltered  within  this 
cat  were  many  men  who  fell  to  work  filling  up  the  moat 
with  bags  of  earth  and  stone  werewith  to  form  a  cause- 
way across  which  they  might  assault  the  wall  with  bore 
and  ram ;  and  because  this  cat  was  builded  very  strong, 
Eric's  engines  battered  it  in  vain,  wherefore  he  presently 
desisted;  thus,  hour  by  hour  the  causeway  grew  and 
lengthened.  So  needs  must  Beltane  seek  Sir  Benedict  and 
point  this  out  with  anxious  finger. 

"  Let  them  come.  Beltane !  "  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  placid 
as  was  his  wont,  "  once  they  are  close  against  the  wall  with 
ram  a-swing,  I  will  make  their  labour  of  no  avail ;  you  shall 


Telleth  of  Roses  501 

see  me  bum  them  with  a  devil's  brew  I  learned  of  in  the 
foreign  wars.      So,  let  them  come,  Beltane !  " 

Thus,  day  in,  day  out,  was  roar  of  conflict  about  the 
walls  of  Belsaye  town,  and  ever  Sir  Benedict,  with  Beltane 
beside  him,  went  to  and  fro,  quick  of  eye  and  hand,  swift 
to  foresee  and  counteract  the  tactics  of  the  besiegers, 
meeting  cunning  artifice  with  crafty  strategem;  whereso- 
ever was  panic  or  pressing  need  there  was  Sir  Benedict, 
calm-voiced  and  serene.  And  Beltane,  watching  him  thus, 
came  to  understand  why  this  man  had  withstood  the 
powers  of  Duke  Ivo  all  these  years,  and  why  all  men 
trusted  to  his  judgment. 

Thus,  all  day  was  rage  of  battle,  but  with  the  night 
peace  came,  since  in  the  dark  men  might  not  see  to  aim 
and  slay  each  other.  And  by  night  the  folk  of  Belsaye 
made  good  their  battered  walls  what  time  the  besiegers 
prepared  fresh  devices  of  attack.  Every  morning  at  sun- 
rise it  was  Beltane's  custom  to  steal  to  the  great  minster 
and,  soft-treading  despite  his  armour,  come  to  his 
mother's  grave  to  hold  communion  with  her  in  his  prayers. 
And  lo!  upon  that  hallowed  stone  there  always  he  found 
fragrant  flowers,  roses  and  lilies,  new-gathered,  upon 
whose  sweet  petals  the  dew  yet  sparkled,  and  ever  his  won- 
der grew. 

More  than  once  he  had  thought  to  hear  again  that  in- 
definable stir  and  whisper  the  which  had  thrilled  him  on 
that  first  morning,  and,  starting  up,  he  would  peer  into  the 
vague  shadows.  Twice  he  had  thought  to  see  a  draped 
figure  bending  above  that  long,  white  stone,  a  veiled  figure 
slender  and  graceful,  that  upon  his  approach,  soft  though 
it  was,  flitted  swiftly  into  the  dark  recesses  of  the  choir. 
Once  he  had  followed,  and  stood  amazed  to  see  it  vanish 
through  the  carven  panelling,  though  door  could  he  find 
none.  Therefore  was  he  sore  perplexed  and  oft  would 
touch  the  dewy  flowers  as  half  expecting  they  should  van- 
ish also.  Now  upon  a  certain  dawn  he  had  hid  himself 
within  the  shadows  and  waited  with  bated  breath  and  heart 
strangely  a-throb.     And  with  the  day-spring  she  came 


502  Beltane  the  Smith 

again,  tall  and  gracious  in  her  clinging  draperies  and  long 
green  veil.  Then,  even  as  she  bent  to  lay  the  flowers  upon 
the  grave  came  Beltane,  soft  of  foot,  and  spake  ere  she 
was  'ware  of  him. 

"  Lady  — !  "  now  though  his  voice  was  very  low  and 
gentle  she  started,  the  flowers  fell  from  her  loosened  clasp, 
and,  after  a  moment,  she  turned  and  fronted  him,  proud 
head  up-flung  beneath  her  veil.  So  stood  they  within  that 
place  of  silence,  while  high  above,  the  great  window  grew 
luminous  with  coming  day. 

"  Lady,"  said  he  again,  "  for  thy  sweet  flowers,  for 
thy  sweeter  thought  for  one  that  is  —  gone,  fain  would  I 
thank  thee,  for  she  who  lieth  here  I  found,  and  loved,  and 
have  lost  again  a  while.  She  did  love  all  fair  things,  so 
loved  she  the  flowers,  methinks ;  yet  I,  who  have  grieved 
for  my  noble  mother,  ne'er  thought  to  bring  her  flowers  — 
this  did  need  a  woman's  gentle  soul.  So,  for  thy  flowers, 
I  do  most,  truly  thank  thee." 

Very  still  she  stood,  nor  spake  nor  moved,  save  for  the 
sweet  hurry  of  her  breathing;  and  beholding  her  thus,  of 
a  sudden  Beltane's  heart  leapt  and  he  fell  a-tremhling 
though  wherefore  he  knew  not,  only  yearned  he  mightily 
to  look  beneath  her  veil.  And  now  it  seemed  to  him  that, 
in  the  stillness,  she  must  needs  hear  the  passionate  throb- 
bing of  his  heart;  twice  would  he  have  spoken  yet  could 
not ;  at  last : 

"  Beseech  thee,"  he  whispered,  "  O  beseech  thee  unveil, 
that  I  may  behold  the  face  of  one  so  tender  to  her  that 
was  my  dear-loved  mother  —  O  beseech  thee !  " 

As  he  spake,  he  drew  a  swift  pace  nearer,  hand  out- 
stretched in  supplication,  but,  because  this  hand  shook  and 
quivered  so,  he  clenched  it,  whereat  the  unknown  shrank 
back  and  back  and,  turning  swift  and  sudden,  was  gone. 

A  while  stood  my  Beltane,  his  head  a-droop,  and  fell  to 
wonderment  because  of  the  so  painful  throbbing  of  his 
heart.  Then  knelt  he  above  his  mother's  grave  with 
hands  tight-clasped. 

*'  Dear  mother  in  heaven,"  he  sighed,  "  being  an  angel, 


Telleth  of  Roses  503 

thou  dost  know  all  my  heart,  its  hopes  and  fears  —  thou 
hast  seen  me  tremble  —  thou  dost  know  wherefore  this  my 
heart  doth  yearn  so  bitterly.  O  sweet  mother  with  God, 
plead  thou  on  my  behalf  that  I  may  be  worthy  her  love  — 
meet  to  her  embracements  —  fit  for  so  great  happiness. 
Angel  of  God,  thou  dost  know  how  great  is  my  desire  — 
how  empty  life  without  her  —  O  mother  —  aid  me !  " 

In  a  while  he  arose  and  immediately  beheld  that  which 
lay  beyond  his  mother's  grave  full  in  the  radiance  of  the 
great  east  window  —  a  thing  small  and  slender  and 
daintily  wrought ;  and  stooping,  he  picked  up  a  little  shoe. 
Of  soft  leather  it  was  fashioned,  cunningly  pinked,  and 
sewn,  here  and  there,  with  coloured  silks ;  and  as  he  stared 
down  at  it,  so  small-seeming  in  his  mailed  hand,  his  heart 
leapt  again,  and  again  his  strong  hand  fell  a-trembling. 
Of  a  sudden  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  then,  coming  to 
his  mother's  grave,  very  reverently  took  thence  a  single 
great  bloom  and  thrusting  the  shoe  in  the  wallet  at  his 
girdle  (that  same  wallet  Sir  Fidelis  had  borne)  went  out 
into  the  golden  dawn. 

Like  one  in  a  dream  Avent  Beltane,  heedless  of  his  going ; 
by  silent  street  and  lane  where  none  stirred  at  this  early 
hour,  thus  he  wandered  on  until  he  was  stayed  by  a  high 
wall  wherein  was  set  a  small,  green  door. 

As  he  stood,  staring  down  at  the  rose  he  held  and  lost 
in  pleasant  dream,  he  was  aroused  by  a  scrambling  sound 
near  by,  and,  glancing  up,  beheld  a  mailed  head  and  shoul- 
ders rise  suddenly  ^.bove  the  wall  and  so  looked  into  the 
face  of  Giles  o'  the  Bow.  Now  in  his  teeth  Giles  bare  a 
great  red  rose  —  even  as  that  which  Beltane  held. 

"  Giles,"  quoth  he,  sharp  and  stern,  "  whence  had  ye 
that  flower.?  " 

For  answer,  Giles,  straddling  the  wall,  laid  finger  to  lip, 
then  dropping  cat-like  to  his  feet,  drew  Beltane  down  an 
adjacent  lane. 

'•  Lord,"  said  he,  "  yonder  is  the  Reeve's  garden  and  in 
the  Reeve's  garden  cometh  the  Reeve  to  taste  the  sweet 
dawn,  wherefore  Giles  doth  incontinent  vanish  him  over 


504  Beltane  the  Smith 

the  Reeve's  wall  because  of  the  Reeve ;  nevertheless  needs 
must  I  bless  the  Reeve  because  of  the  Reeve's  daughter  — 
though  verily,  both  in  my  speech  and  in  the  Reeve's  garden 
is  too  much  Reeve,  methinks.  As  to  this  rose,  now  — 
ha!" 

"  How  came  you  by  the  rose,  Giles  ?  " 

"  Why,  in  the  first  place,  tall  brother,  I  stole  it  — " 

"  Stole  it ! "  repeated  Beltane,  and  behold !  his  frown 
was  gone  completely. 

"  But,  in  the  second  place,  brother,  'twas  given  to 
me—" 

"  Given  to  thee  —  by  whom  ?  "  and  immediately  Bel- 
tane's frown  was  back  again. 

"  And  therefore,  in  the  third  place,  brother,  Giles  this 
day  would  not  change  skins  with  any  lord,  duke,  archduke, 
pope  or  potentate  that  e'er  went  in  skin  — " 

"  Who  gave  it  thee?  —  speak,  man !  " 

*'  Faith,  lord,  I  had  it  from  one  as  pure,  as  fair,  as  — " 

"  Aye,  but  what  like  is  she?  " 

"  Like  unto  this  flower  for  sweetness,  lord,  and  —  ha, 
saints  and  martyrs!  whence  had  ye  that  bloom,  tall 
brother  —  speak !  "  and  Giles  pointed  to  the  rose  in  Bel- 
tane's fingers. 

"  What  like  is  she  —  answer  me  !  " 

"  Alack !  "  sighed  Giles,  shaking  gloomy  head,  "  she  is 
very  like  a  woman,  after  all,  methinks  — " 

"  Mean  ye  the  Reeve's  daughter?  " 

"Even  so,  lord!" 

"  Doth  she  wear  ever  a  —  a  green  veil,  Giles  ?  " 

*'  Verily,  lord,  and  with  a  most  sweet  grace  — " 

*'  And  her  shoes  — " 

"  Her  shoes,  tall  brother,  O  methinks  her  sweet  shoe 
doth  kiss  the  earth  so  sweet  and  light  poor  earth  must 
needs  love  and  languish  as  doth  poor  Giles !     Her  shoe  — " 

"Is  it  aught  like  to  this,  Giles?"  and  forthwith  Bel- 
tane took  out  the  little  shoe. 

"Aye,  'tis  her  very  own,  master!"  groaned  Giles. 
"  Ah,  woe  is  me,  for  if  she  hath  given  to  thee  rose  and 


Telleth  of  Roses  505 

therewith  her  pretty  shoe  —  thou  hast,  belike,  her  heart 
also,  and  with  her  heart  — " 

"  Nay,  take  it,  Giles, —  take  it !  "  quoth  Beltane,  sigh- 
ing. "  I  did  but  find  it  in  my  going,  and  this  rose  —  I 
found  also,  but  this  will  I  keep.  Methinks  thy  love  is  what 
thy  heart  telleth  thee  —  a  maid  very  gentle  and  sweet  — 
so  God  prosper  thy  wooing,  Giles !  " 

So  saying,  Beltane  thrust  the  shoe  upon  bewildered  Giles 
and,  turning  swiftly  about,  hasted  away.  But  even  then, 
while  the  archer  yet  stared  after  him.  Beltane  turned  and 
came  striding  back. 

"  Giles,"  quoth  he,  "  how  tall  is  the  Reeve's  daughter?  " 

"  Lord,  she  is  better  than  tall  — " 

"  Ha  —  is  she  short  of  stature,  good  Giles  ?  " 

"  Messire,  God  hath  shaped  her  lovely  body  no  higher 
and  no  lower  than  my  heart.  Small  is  she  and  slender, 
yet  in  her  sweet  and  slender  shapeliness  is  all  the  beauty 
of  all  the  women  that  all  men  have  ever  loved  — " 

"Small,  say  you,  Giles  —  small.''  Then  give  me  back 
yon  lovely  thing !  " 

Saying  the  which,  Beltane  caught  the  shoe  from  Giles's 
hold  and  strode  away  blithe  and  debonair,  leaving  the  gar- 
rulous archer  dumb  for  once  and  beyond  all  words  amazed. 

Now  as  Beltane  went  very  deep  in  thought  there  met 
him  Friar  Martin,  who  bore  upon  his  arm  a  great  bas- 
ket full  of  green  vegetables  and  sweet  herbs.  Quoth  Bel- 
tane: 

"  Good  friar,  what  do  ye  abroad  so  early?  " 

"  Sweet  son,  I  praise  the  good  God  for  His  mercies  and 
pant  by  reason  of  this  my  weighty  basket." 

"  Indeed  'tis  a  something  well-laden  basket,"  said  Bel- 
tane, relieving  the  friar  of  his  burden  with  gentle  force. 

*"  Why,  verily,  my  children  are  hungry  children  and 
clamour  to  be  filled.  And  see  you,  my  son,  I  have  a  secret 
of  a  certain  broth  whereof  these  lentils  and  these  sweet 
herbs  do  so  tickle  their  palates  that  to  satisfy  them  is  a 
hard  matter  —  more  especially  Orson  and  Jenkyn  —  who 
being  nigh  cured  of  their  hurts  do  eat  like  four  men  and 


5o6 


Beltane  the  Smith 


vaunt  mj  cooking  full-mouthed,  insomuch  that  I  must 
needs  grow  heedful  of  vain  pride." 

"  Fain  would  I  see  these  children  of  thine  an  I  may, 
good  friar,  so  will  I  bear  thy  burden  for  thee." 

"  Verily  they  shall  rejoice  to  see  thee,"  quoth  the  friar, 
"  but  for  my  basket,  methinks  'tis  better  suited  to  my 
habit  than  thy  knightly  mail  — " 

For  answer  Beltane  slipped  the  basket  on  his  arm  and 
they  went  on  together  talking  whole-heartedly  of  many 
things.  Thus  the  gentle  friar  brought  him  at  last  to  a 
low-arched  portal  within  a  narrow  lane,  and  pushing  open 
the  door,  ushered  him  into  the  great  refectory  of  the 
abbey,  where  Beltane  set  down  the  basket,  and  Friar  Mar- 
tin, rolling  up  his  sleeves,  brought  pot  and  pannikin  but 
paused  to  smile  and  shake  his  head,  as  from  a  stone- 
flagged  passage  hard  by  came  the  sound  of  voices  raised 
in  altercation. 

"  My  children  do  grow  a  little  fractious  at  times," 
quoth  he,  "  as  is  but  natural,  methinks.  Yonder  you  shall 
hear  Orson  and  Jenkyn,  who  having  saved  each  other's 
life  in  battle  and  loving  like  brothers,  do  oft  contend  to- 
gether with  tongues  most  ungentle;  go  you,  my  son,  and 
quiet  me  the  naughty  rogues." 

So  saying.  Friar  Martin  fell  to  washing  and  preparing 
his  herbs  and  vegetables  whiles  Beltane,  hasting  down  the 
passage,  opened  a  certain  door  and  entered  a  cool  and  airy 
dormitory,  where  upon  pallets  neat  and  orderly  lay  divers 
fellows  whose  hurts  were  swathed  in  fair  white  linen,  and 
who,  despite  their  bandages,  started  up  on  hand  or  elbow 
to  greet  Beltane  right  gladly.  And  behold!  beside  each 
man's  couch  was  a  bowl  wherein  roses  bloomed. 

"  Master,"  quoth  Tall  Orson,  "  us  do  be  glad  to  see 
thee  —  in  especial  me  —  and  Jenkj^n  that  I  did  save  the 
carcase  of  and  as  do  be  a  liar  as  do  say  my  roses  do  be 
a-fading,  master,  and  as  his  roses  do  bloom  fairer  than 
my  roses  and  — " 

"  And  look'ee  master,  so  they  be,  for  I  ha'  watered  mine 
wi'  Orson's  drinking-water,  while  he  snored,  look'ee  — " 


Telleth  of  Roses  507 

*'  So  Jenkyn  do  be  thief  as  well,  master  — " 

"  Nay,"  said  Beltane  smiling,  and  seating  himself  on 
Orson's  bed,  "  stint  now  your  angers  and  tell  me  who  gave 
ye  flowers  so  fair?  " 

"  Master,  she  do  be  an  angel !  " 

"  Heed  him  not,  lord,  for  look'ee,  she  is  a  fair  and 
lovely  woman,  and  look'ee,  a  good  woman  is  better  than 
an  angel,  look'ee !  " 

"  And  what  like  is  she  ?  "  questioned  Beltane. 

"  She  do  be  like  to  a  stag  for  grace  o'  body,  and  wi'  the 
eyes  of  a  stag — " 

"  Nay,  master,  her  eyes  do  be  maid's  eyes,  look'ee,  very 
soft  and  sweet,  and  her  hair,  look'ee  — " 

"  Her  hair  do  be  like  a  forest-pool  brim-full  o'  sun- 
set — " 

"  Not  so,  master,  her  hair  is  red,  look'ee  — " 

"  And  each  day  she  do  bring  us  flowers,  master  — " 

"  And  suckets,  look'ee,  very  sweet  and  delicate,  mas- 
ter." 

In  a  while  Beltane  arose  and  going  from  bed  to  bed 
spake  with  each  and  every,  and  went  his  way,  leaving 
Orson  and  Jenkyn  to  their  recriminations. 

Being  come  back  into  the  refectory,  he  found  Friar  Mar- 
tin yet  busied  with  the  preparations  of  his  cooking,  and 
seating  himself  upon  the  great  table  hard  by,  fell  to  a 
profound  meditation,  watched  ever  and  anon  by  the  friar's 
kindly  eyes :  so  very  silent  and  thoughtful  was  he  that  the 
friar  presently  looked  up  from  slicing  and  cutting  his 
vegetables  and  spake  with  smile  wondrous  tender: 

"  Wherefore  so  pensive,  my  son?  " 

"  Good  father,  I  think  and  dream  of  —  red  roses  !  " 

Friar  Martin  cut  and  trimmed  a  leek  with  great  care, 
yet  surely  here  was  no  reason  for  his  eyes  to  twinkle 
within  the  shadow  of  his  white  cowl. 

"  A  sweet  and  fragrant  thought,  my  son !  "  quoth  he. 

"  As  sweet,  methinks,  holy  father,  as  pure  and  fragrant 
as  she  herself !  " 

"'She,'  my  son?" 


5o8  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  As  Helen,  good  friar,  as  Helen  the  Beautiful,  Duchess 
of  Mortain !  " 

"  Ah !  "  sighed  the  friar,  and  forthwith  popped  the  leek 
into  the  pot.  "  I  prithee,  noble  son,  reach  me  the  salt- 
box  jonder I " 


CHAPTER  LXVI 

CONCERNING  A  BLUE  CAMLET  CLOAK 

Next  morning,  ere  the  sun  was  up,  came  Beltane  into  the 
minster  and  hiding  within  the  deeper  gloom  of  the  choir, 
sat  there  hushing  his  breath  to  listen,  trembling  in  eager 
anticipation.  Slowly  amid  the  dimness  above  came  a 
glimmer  from  the  great  window,  a  pale  beam  that  grew 
with  dawn  until  up  rose  the  sun  and  the  window  glowed  in 
many-hued  splendour. 

And  in  a  while  to  Beltane's  straining  senses  came  the 
faint  creak  of  a  door,  a  soft  rustle,  the  swift  light  tread 
of  feet,  and  starting  forth  of  his  lurking  place  he  stepped 
forward  with  yearning  arms  outstretched  —  then  paused 
of  a  sudden  beholding  her  who  stood  at  gaze,  one  slender 
foot  advanced  and  white  hands  full  of  roses  and  lilies,  one 
as  fair,  as  sweet  and  pure  as  the  fragrant  blooms  she  bore. 
Small  was  she  and  slender,  and  of  a  radiant  loveliness,  red 
of  lip  and  grey-eyed :  now  beholding  Beltane  thus  suddenly, 
she  shrank  and  uttered  a  soft  cry. 

"  Na}',"  quoth  he,  "  fear  me  not,  sweet  maid,  methought 
thee  other  than  thou  art  —  I  grieve  that  I  did  fright 
thee  —  forgive  me,  I  pray,"  so  saying,  he  sighed  and  bow- 
ing full  humbly,  turned,  but  even  so  paused  again :  "  Thou 
art  methinks  the  Reeve's  fair  daughter  —  thou  art  the 
lady  Genevra  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Aye,  my  lord." 

"  Then,  an  thou  dost  love,  gentle  maid,  heaven  send 
thee  happier  in  thy  love  than  I."  At  the  which  Genevra's 
gentle  eyes  grew  softer  yet  and  her  sweet  mouth  full  piti- 
ful and  tender. 

"  Art  thou  so  unhappy,  lord  Beltane?  " 

**  Aye,  truly !  "  he  sighed,  and  drooped  mournful  head. 


5IO  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Ah,  messire,  then  fain  would  I  aid  thee  an  I  might ! " 
said  she,  soft-voiced. 

"  Then  where,  I  pray  you,  is  she  that  came  here  yes- 
terday ?  " 

"  Nay,  lord,  how  may  I  tell  thee  this  ?  There  be  many 
women  in  Belsaye  town." 

"  For  me,"  quoth  Beltane,  "  in  all  the  world  there  is 
but  one  and  to  this  one,  alas !  thou  canst  not  aid  me,  yet 
for  thy  kind  intent  I  thank  thee,  and  so  farewell,  sweet 
maid."  Thus  saying,  he  took  three  steps  away  from  her, 
then  turning,  came  back  in  two.  "  Stay,"  quoth  he,  slip- 
ping hand  in  wallet,  "  know  you  this  shoe  ?  " 

Now  beholding  this,  Genevra's  red  lips  quivered 
roguishly,  and  she  bowed  her  little,  shapely  head : 

"  Indeed,  my  lord,  'tis  mine !  "  said  she. 

"  Then  pray  you,  who  was  she  did  wear  it  yester- 
day—.?" 

"  Aye,  messire,  'twas  yesterday  I  —  missed  it,  wilt  not 
give  it  me  therefore?  One  shoe  can  avail  thee  nothing 
and  —  and  'tis  too  small  for  thee  to  wear  methinks  — " 

"  Did  she  —  she  that  lost  this  yesterday,  send  thee  to- 
day in  her  stead  .f*  " 

"Wilt  not  give  a  poor  maid  her  shoe  again,  messire.?" 

**  O  Genevra,  beseech  thee,  who  was  she  did  wear  it  yes- 
terday —  speak !  " 

"  Nay,  this  —  this  I  may  not  tell  thee,  lord  Beltane." 

"  And  wherefore?  " 

"  For  that  I  did  so  promise  —  and  yet  —  what  seek 
you  of  her,  my  lord?  " 

"  Forgiveness,"  said  Beltane,  hot  and  eager,  "  I  would 
woo  her  sweet  clemency  on  one  that  hath  wrought  her 
grievous  wrong.  O  sweet  Genevra,  wilt  not  say  where  I 
may  find  her  ?  " 

A  while  stood  the  maid  Genevra  with  bowed  head  as 
one  in  doubt,  then  looked  on  him  with  sweet  maiden  eyes 
and  of  a  sudden  smiled  compassionate  and  tender. 

"  Ah,  messire,"  said  she,  "  surely  thine  are  the  eyes  of 
one  who  loveth  greatly  and  well!     And  I  do  so  love  he? 

i 


Concerning  a  Blue  Camlet  Cloak     511 

that  fain  would  I  have  her  greatly  loved  —  so  will  I  tell 
thee  despite  my  word  —  hearken  !  "  And  drawing  him 
near  she  laid  white  finger  to  rosy  lip  and  thereafter  spake 
in  whispers.  "  Go  you  to  the  green  door  where  yesterday 
thou  didst  meet  with  Gi  —  with  the  captain  of  the 
archers  —  O  verily  we  —  she  and  I,  my  lord,  did  see  and 
hear  all  that  passed  betwixt  you  —  and  upon  this  door 
knock  you  softly  three  times.  Go  —  yet,  O  prithee  say 
not  'twas  Genevra  told  thee  this !  '*  and  again  she  laid  white 
finger  to  roguish,  pouting  lip. 

Then  Beltane  stooped,  and  catching  that  little  hand 
kissed  it,  and  thereafter  hasted  blithely  on  his  way. 

Swift  of  foot  went  he  and  with  eyes  a-dance,  nor  paused 
in  his  long  stride  until  he  was  come  to  a  certain  high  wall 
wherein  was  set  the  small,  green  door,  whereon  he  knocked 
three  times.  And  presently  he  heard  the  bar  softly  raised, 
the  door  was  opened  slow  and  cautiously,  and  stooping. 
Beltane  stepped  beneath  the  lintel  and  stood  suddenly  still, 
staring  into  the  face  of  Black  Roger.  And  even  as  Bel- 
tane stared  thus  amazed,  so  stared  Roger. 

"  Why,  master  — "  quoth  he,  pushing  back  his  mail-coif 
to  rumple  his  black  hair,  "  why,  master,  you  —  you  be 
early  abroad  —  though  forsooth  'tis  a  fair  morning 
and—" 

"  Roger,"  quoth  Beltane,  looking  round  upon  a  fair 
garden  a-bloom  with  flowers,  "  Roger,  where  is  the  Duchess 
Helen.?" 

"  Ha,  so  ye  do  know,  master  —  who  hath  discovered 
it—?" 

"  Where  is  she,  Roger?  " 

"  Lord,"  quoth  Roger,  giving  a  sudden  sideways  jerk 
of  his  head,  "  how  should  Roger  tell  thee  this  ?  "  Now 
even  as  he  spake,  Roger  must  needs  gesture  again  with  his 
head  and  therewith  close  one  bright,  black  eye,  and  with 
stealthy  finger  point  to  a  certain  tall  hedge  hard  by;  all 
of  which  was  seen  by  one  who  stood  beyond  the  hedge, 
watching  Beltane  with  eyes  that  missed  nought  of  him, 
from  golden  spur  to  golden  head ;  quick  to  note  his  flush- 


512  Beltane  the  Smith 

ing  cheek,  his  parted  hps  and  the  eager  light  of  his  blue 
eyes;  one  who  perceiving  him  turn  whither  Roger's  sly 
finger  pointed,  gathered  up  her  flowing  robe  in  both  white 
hands  that  she  might  flee  the  faster,  and  who,  speeding 
swift  and  light,  came  to  a  certain  leafy  bower  where  stood 
a  tambour  frame,  and  sitting  there,  with  draperies  well 
ordered,  caught  up  silk  and  needle,  yet  paused  to  close  her 
eyes  and  set  one  hand  upon  rounded  bosom  what  time  a 
quick,  firm  step  drew  near  and  ever  nearer  with  clash  and 
ring  of  heavj'  mail  until  Beltane  stood  before  her.  And 
how  was  he  to  know  of  the  ej'es  that  had  watched  him 
through  the  hedge,  or  that  the  hand  that  held  the  needle 
had  paused  lest  he  should  see  how  direfully  it  trembled: 
how  should  my  Beltane  know  all  this,  who  was  but  a  very 
man  ? 

A  while  stood  he,  viewing  her  with  eyes  aglow  with 
yearning  tenderness,  and  she,  knowing  this,  kept  her  face 
down-bent,  therefore.  Now  beholding  all  the  beauty  of 
her,  because  of  her  gracious  loveliness,  his  breath  caught, 
then  hurried  thick  and  fast,  insomuch  that  when  he  would 
have  spoken  he  could  not;  thus  he  worshipped  her  in  a 
look  and  she,  content  to  be  so  worshipped,  sat  with  head 
down-bent,  as  sweetly  demure,  as  proud  and  stately  as 
if  —  as  if  she  ne'er  in  all  her  days  had  fled  with  hamper- 
ing draperies  caught  up  so  high! 

So  Beltane  stood  worshipping  her  as  she  had  been  some 
young  goddess  in  whose  immortal  beauty  all  beauty  was 
embodied. 

At  last  he  spake,  hoarse  and  low  and  passionate: 

"  Helen !  "  said  he,  "  O  Helen !  " 

Slowly,  slowly  the  Duchess  lifted  stately  head  and 
looked  on  him:  but  now,  behold!  her  glance  was  high  and 
proud,  her  scarlet  mouth  firm-set  like  the  white  and  dim- 
pled chin  below,  and  her  eyes  swept  him  with  look  calm 
and  most  dispassionate. 

"  Ah,  my  lord  Beltane,"  she  said,  sweet-voiced,  "  what 
do  you  here  within  the  privacy  of  Genevra's  garden?  " 

Now  because  of  the  sweet  serenity  of  her  speech,  because 


Concerning  a  Blue  Camlet  Cloak     513 

of  the  calm,  unswerving  directness  of  her  gaze,  my  Beltane 
felt  at  sudden  loss,  his  outstretched  arms  sank  helplessly 
and  he  fell  a-stammering. 

"  Helen,  I  —  I  —  O  Helen,  I  have  dreamed  of,  yearned 
for  this  hour !  To  see  thee  again  —  to  hear  thy  voice, 
and  yet  —  and  yet  — " 

"Well,  my  lord?" 

Now  stood  Beltane  very  still,  staring  on  her  in  dumb 
amaze,  and  the  pain  in  his  eyes  smote  her,  insomuch  that 
she  bent  to  her  embroidery  and  sewed  three  stitches  woe- 
fully askew. 

"  O  surely,  surely  I  am  mad,"  quoth  he  wondering,  "  or 
I  do  dream.  For  she  I  seek  is  a  woman,  gentle  and  prone 
to  forgiveness,  one  beyond  all  women  fair  and  brave  and 
noble,  in  whose  pure  heart  can  nothing  evil  be,  in  whose 
gentle  eyes  her  gentle  soul  lieth  mirrored,  whose  tender  lips 
be  apt  and  swift  to  speak  mercy  and  forgiveness.  Even 
as  her  soft,  kind  hands  did  bind  up  my  wounds,  so  me- 
thought  she  with  gentle  sayings  might  heal  my  grieving 
heart  —  and  now  —  now  — " 

"  O  my  lord,"  she  sighed,  bending  over  idle  fingers, 
"  methinks  you  came  seeking  an  angel  of  heaven  and  find 
here  —  only  a  woman." 

"  Yet  'tis  this  woman  I  do  love  and  ever  must  — 'tis  this 
woman  I  did  know  as  Fidelis  — " 

"  Alas !  "  she  sighed  again,  "  alas,  poor  Fidelis,  thou 
didst  drive  him  from  thee  into  the  solitary  wild-wood. 
So  is  poor  Fidelis  lost  to  thee,  methinks  — " 

"Nay,  Helen  —  O  Helen,  be  just  to  me  —  thou  dost 
know  I  loved  Fidelis  — " 

"  Yet  thou  didst  spurn  and  name  him  traitor  and  drave 
him  from  thee !  " 

Now  of  a  sudden  he  strode  towards  her,  and  as  he  came 
her  bosom  swelled,  her  lashes  drooped,  for  it  seemed  he 
meant  to  clasp  her  to  his  heart.  But  lo!  being  only  man, 
my  Beltane  paused  and  trembled,  and  dared  not  touch 
her,  and  sinking  before  her  on  his  knees,  spake  very  hum- 
bly and  with  head  low-bowed. 


514  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Helen  —  show  me  a  little  mercy ! "  he  pleaded. 
"  Would'st  that  I  abase  myself?  Then  here  —  here  be- 
hold me  at  thy  feet,  fearing  thee  because  of  my  unworthi- 
ness.  But  O  believe  —  believe,  for  every  base  doubt  of 
thee  this  heart  hath  known,  now  doth  it  grieve  remorseful. 
For  every  harsh  and  bitter  word  this  tongue  hath  spoke 
thee,  now  doth  it  humbly  crave  thy  pitiful  forgiveness ! 
But  know  you  this,  that  from  the  evil  hour  I  drave  thee 
from  me,  I  have  known  abiding  sorrow  and  remorse,  for 
without  thee  life  is  indeed  but  an  empty  thing  and  I  a 
creature  lost  and  desolate  —  O  Helen,  pity  me !  " 

Thus  spake  he,  humble  and  broken,  and  she,  beholding 
him  thus,  sighed  (though  wondrous  softly)  and  'neath  her 
long  lashes  tears  glittered  (though  swift  dashed  away) 
but  —  slowly,  very  slowly,  one  white  hand  came  out  to 
him,  faltered,  stopped,  and  glancing  up  she  rose  in  haste 
and  shrank  away.  Now  Beltane,  perceiving  only  this  last 
gesture,  sprang  up,  fierce-eyed : 

"  How?  "  quoth  he,  "  am  I  then  become  a  thing  so  base 
my  presence  doth  offend  thee  —  then,  as  God  liveth,  ne'er 
.shalt  see  me  more  until  thou  thyself  do  summon  me !  " 

Even  as  he  spake  thus,  swift  and  passionate,  Giles 
clambered  the  adjacent  wall  and  dropping  softly  within 
the  garden,  stared  to  behold  Beltane  striding  towards  him 
fierce-eyed,  who,  catching  him  by  the  arm  yet  viewing  him 
not,  spun  him  from  his  path,  and  coming  to  the  green 
door,  sped  out  and  away. 

Now  as  Giles  stood  to  rub  his  arm  and  gape  in  wonder- 
ment, he  started  to  find  the  Duchess  beside  him ;  and  her 
eyes  were  very  bright  and  her  cheeks  very  red,  and,  meet- 
ing her  look,  poor  Giles  fell  suddenly  abashed. 

"  Noble  lady  — "  he  faltered. 

"  FooHsh  Giles !  "  said  she,  "  go,  summon  me  my  faithful 
Roger."  But  as  she  spake,  behold  Roger  himself  hasting 
to  her  through  the  roses. 

"  Roger,"  said  she,  frowning  a  little,  "  saw  you  my 
lord  go  but  now?  " 


Concerning  a  Blue  Camlet  Cloak     515 

"  Aye,  verily,  dear  my  lady,"  quoth  he,  ruffling  up  his 
hair,  "  but  wherefore  — " 

"  And  I,"  said  Giles,  cherishing  his  arm,  "  both  saw  and 
felt  him  — " 

"  Ha,"  quoth  Roger,  "  would'st  have  him  back,  sweet 
mistress?  " 

"  Why  truly  I  would,  Roger  — " 

"  Then  forsooth  will  I  go  fetch  him." 

"  Nay  —  rather  would  I  die,  Roger."  i 

"  But  —  dear  lady  —  an  thou  dost  want  him  — " 

"  I  will  bring  him  by  other  means !  "  said  the  Duchess, 
"  aye,  he  shall  come  despite  himself,"  and  her  red  lips 
curved  to  sudden  roguish  smile,  as  smiling  thus,  she 
brought  them  to  a  certain  arbour  very  shady  and  remote, 
and,  seating  herself,  looked  from  one  tanned  face  to  the 
other  and  spake  them  certain  matters,  whereat  the  archer's 
merry  eyes  grew  merrier  yet,  but  Roger  sighed  and  shook 
his  head ;  said  he : 

"  Lady,  here  is  tale  shall  wring  his  noble  heart,  me- 
thinks,  wherefore  the  telling  shall  wring  mine  also  — " 

"  Then  speak  not  of  it,  Roger.  Be  this  Giles's  mis- 
sion." 

"  Aye,  Rogerkin,  leave  it  to  me.  In  faith,  noble  lady, 
I  will  with  suggestion  soft  and  subtle,  with  knowing  look 
and  wily  wag  of  head,  so  work  upon  my  lord  that  he  shall 
hither  hot-foot  haste  — " 

"  At  moonrise,"  said  the  Duchess  softly,  "  this  evening 
at  moonrise !  " 

"  Verily,  lady,  at  moonrise !  And  a  blue  camlet  cloak, 
say  you.''  " 

"  Come,  Giles,  and  I  will  give  it  thee." 
Meanwhile,  Beltane,  hurt  and  angry,  betook  him  to  the 
walls  where  bow  and  perrier  had  already  begun  their  deadly 
morning's  work ;  and  coming  to  a  quiet  corner  of  the  bat- 
tlement, he  leaned  him  there  to  watch  where  the  besiegers, 
under  cover  of  the  cat  that  hourly  crept  more  nigh, 
worked  amain  to  dam  the  moat. 


Si6 


Beltane  the  Smith 


Now  as  he  leaned  thus,  a  hand  slipped  within  his  arm, 
and  turning,  he  beheld  Sir  Benedict. 

"  A  right  fair  morning,  my  Beltane,"  quoth  he. 

"  Aye,  truly,  Benedict,"  sighed  Beltane,  "  though  there 
be  clouds  to  the  west.  And  the  causeway  across  the  moat 
groweth  apace;  I  have  watched  yon  cat  creep  a  full 
yard  — " 

"  Aye,  verily,  by  mid-day,  Beltane,  'twill  reach  our 
wall,  then  will  they  advance  their  ram  to  the  battery,  me- 
thinks." 

"  And  what  then,  Benedict?  " 

"  Then  shall  we  destroy  their  ram  forthwith  with  devil- 
fire,  dear  lad !  " 

"Aye,  and  how  then,  Benedict?" 

"  Then,  belike  will  they  plant  ladders  on  the  causeway 
and  attempt  the  wall  by  storm,  so  shall  we  come  to  hand- 
strokes  at  last  and  beset  them  with  pitch  and  boiling  oil 
and  hew  their  ladders  in  sunder." 

"And  after,  Benedict?" 

"  Hey-day,  Beltane,  here  be  a  many  questions  — " 

"  Aye,  Benedict,  'tis  that  I  do  look  into  the  future. 
And  what  future  can  there  be?  Though  we  maintain  our 
walls  a  year,  or  two,  or  three,  yet  in  the  end  Belsaye  must 
fall." 

"  And  I  tell  thee.  Beltane,  were  Ivo  twice  as  strong 
Belsaye  should  yet  withstand  him.  So  gloom  not,  lad, 
Belsave  is  safe,  the  sun  shineth  and  behold  my  arm  — 'tis 
well-nigh  healed,  thanks  to  —  to  skilful  nursing  — " 

"  Of  the  Duchess  Helen,  Benedict?  " 

"  Ha  —  so  hast  found  it  out  —  at  last,  lad  — " 

"  Knew  you  she  was  here?  " 

*'  Aye,  verily." 

"And  told  me  not?" 

"  For  that  she  did  so  command.  Beltane." 

*'  And  wherefore  came  she  hither?  " 

"  For  thy  dear  sake  in  the  first  place,  and  — " 

"  Nay,  mock  me  not,  friend,  for  I  do  know  myself  of 
none  account." 


Concerning  a  Blue  Camlet  Cloak     517 

"  And  in  the  second  place,  Beltane,  to  save  this  fair  cit^ 
of  Belsaye." 

"  Nay,  how  mean  you  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  Belsaye  cannot  fall  whiles  it  holdeth 
Helen  the  Proud.  And  the  reason  this  —  now  mark  me, 
Beltane !  Since  her  father's  death  Duke  Ivo  hath  had  his 
glutton  eye  on  fair  Mortain,  whereof  her  counsellors  did 
ken,  yet,  being  old  men  and  averse  to  war,  would  fain  have 
had  her  wed  with  him.  Now  upon  a  day  word  reached  me 
in  Thrasfordham  bidding  me  come  to  her  and  Waldron  of 
Brand  at  Winisfarne.  So,  as  thou  dost  know,  stole  I 
from  my  goodly  castle  and  marched  north.  But  on  the 
way  she  came  to  me  bedight  in  mail,  and  she  and  I  took 
counsel  together.  Wherefore  came  she  hither  to  Belsaye 
and  sent  speedy  messengers  to  Sir  Jocelyn  of  Alain  and 
others  of  her  greatest  lords  and  knights,  bidding  them 
come  down  with  all  their  powers  —  nay,  why  shake  ye 
gloomy  head,  fond  boy.?  Body  o'  me.  Beltane,  I  tell  thee 
this  —  to-day  she  — " 

"  To-day,"  sighed  Beltane,  frowning,  "  to-day  she 
spurneth  me!  Kneeling  at  her  feet  e'en  as  I  was  she 
shrank  away  as  I  had  leprous  been !  " 

"  Aye,  lad,  and  then  —  didst  woo  as  well  as  kneel  to 
her,  didst  clasp  her  to  thee,  lift  her  proud  head  that  needs 
must  she  give  to  thine  her  eyes  —  she  is  in  sooth  very 
woman  —  did  you  this,  my  Beltane.?  " 

"Ah,  dear  Benedict,  she  that  I  love  was  not  wont  to 
shrink  from  me  thus!  'Tis  true  I  am  unworthy  —  and 
yet,  she  spurned  me  —  so  is  her  love  dead,  methinks !  " 

"  So  art  thou  but  youth,  and  foolish  youth,  and  belike, 
foolish,  hungry  youth  —  so  come,  let  us  break  our  fast 
together." 

"  Not  I,  Benedict,  for  if  love  be  dead,  no  mind  have  I 
to  food." 

"  0  lad  —  lad !  "  sighed  Sir  Benedict,  "  would  I  had  one 
as  fair  and  noble  to  love  me  in  such  sort !  "  And  turning, 
he  gazed  sad-eyed  towards  Belsaye's  great  minster,  and 
sighing,  went  his  way. 


5 1 8  Beltane  the  Smith 

And  presently,  as  Beltane  leaned  thus,  grieving  and 
alone,  cometh  Giles  that  way,  who,  pausing  beside  him, 
peered  down  where  the  besiegers,  but  ill-sheltered  by  bat- 
tered mantlet  and  palisades,  strove  amain  to  bring  up  one 
of  their  rams,  since  the  causeway  across  the  moat  was 
well-nigh  complete. 

"  Holy  saints !  "  quoth  Giles,  "  the  rogues  grow  bold 
and  venturesome,  methinks !  "  So  saying,  he  strung  his 
powerful  bow,  and  laying  arrows  to  his  hand  fell  to  draw- 
ing and  loosing  amain.  So  swift  shot  he  and  with  aim  so 
true,  that  in  a  while  the  enemy  gave  over  their  attempt 
and  betook  them  to  cover  what  time  their  archers  and 
cross-bowmen  plied  the  wall  with  a  storm  of  shafts  and 
bolts. 

Upon  this  Giles,  laying  by  his  bow,  seated  himself 
in  corner  well  screened  from  harm,  beckoning  Beltane  to 
do  the  like,  since  the  enemy's  missiles  whizzed  and  whistled 
perilously  near.  But  sighing,  Beltane  closed  his  vizor 
and  heedless  of  flying  bolt  and  arrow  strode  to  the  narrow 
stair  that  led  up  to  the  gate-tower  and  being  come  there 
sat  him  down  beside  the  great  mangonel.  But  lo!  very 
soon  Giles  was  there  also  and  even  as  Beltane  sighed,  so 
sighed  Giles. 

"  Heigho  —  a  sorry  world,  brother !  "  quoth  he,  "  a 
sorry  world !  "  and  forthwith  fell  to  his  archery,  yet  now, 
though  his  aim  was  true  as  ever,  he  sighed  and  murmured 
plaintively  'twixt  every  shot :  "  Alack,  a  sorry  world !  " 
So  deep  and  oft  were  his  sighs,  so  plaintive  his  groans, 
that  Beltane,  though  plunged  in  bitter  thought,  must 
needs  at  length  take  heed  of  him. 

"  Giles,"  quoth  he,  looking  up,  "  a  heaven's  name,  what 
aileth  thee,  man  ?  " 

"  'Tis  my  eyes,  lord." 

"  Thine  eyes  are  well  enough,  Giles,  and  see  wondrous 
well  to  judge  by  thy  shooting." 

"  Wondrous  well  —  aye,  there  it  is,  tall  brother,  mine 
eyes  do  see  wondrous  well,  mine  eyes  do  see  so  much,  see 
you,  that  they  do  see  over-much,  over-much,  aye  —  too, 


Concerning  a  Blue  Camlet  Cloak     519 

too  much.  Alack,  'tis  a  sorry  and  woeful  world,  brother ! 
beshrew  my  eyes,  I  say !  " 

"  And  wherefore,  Giles  ?  " 

"  For  that  these  eyes  do  see  what  other  eyes  see  not  — 
thine,  methinks,  saw  nought  of  a  fine,  lusty  and  up-stand- 
ing fellow  in  a  camlet  cloak  within  the  Reeve's  garden  this 
morning,  I'll  warrant  me  now?  A  tall,  shapely  rogue^ 
well  be-seen,  see  you,  soft-voiced  and  very  debonair?  " 

"  Nay,  not  I,"  said  Beltane,  and  sighing  he  arose  and 
descended  to  the  battlement  above  the  gates.  And  pres- 
ently, behold  Giles  was  there  also  ! 

"  Brother,"  quoth  he,  selecting  an  arrow  with  porten- 
tous care,  "  'tis  an  ill  thing  to  be  cursed  with  eyes  such  as 
mine,  I  tell  thee !  " 

"Aye,  and  wherefore,  Giles?"  said  Beltane,  yet  intent 
on  his  own  thoughts. 

"  For  that  they  do  see  more  than  is  good  for  this  heart 
o'  mine  —  as  this  fellow  in  the  blue  camlet  cloak  — " 

"What  fellow,  Giles?" 

"  The  buxom  fellow  that  was  in  the  Reeve's  garden  this 
morning." 

"  Why  then,"  quoth  Beltane,  turning  away,  "  go  you 
not  to  the  Reeve's  garden,  Giles." 

All  day  long  Beltane  kept  the  wall,  eating  not  at  all, 
wherefore  his  gloom  waxed  the  more  profound;  so  spake 
he  to  few  men  and  oft  exposed  himself  to  shaft  and  missile. 
And  so,  all  day  long,  wheresoever  he  came,  on  tower  or 
keep,  in  corners  most  remote,  there  sure  was  Giles  to  come 
also,  sighing  amain  and  with  brow  of  heavy  portent,  who, 
so  oft  as  he  met  Beltane's  gloomy  eye,  would  shake  his 
head  in  sad  yet  knowing  fashion.  Thus,  as  evening  fell. 
Beltane  finding  him  at  his  elbow  yet  despondent,  betook 
him  to  speech  at  last ;  quoth  he : 

"Giles,  art  thou  sick?" 

"  Aye,  lord,  by  reason  of  this  fellow  in  the  blue  cam- 
let — " 

"What  fellow?" 

"  The  tall  and  buxom  fellow  in  the  Reeve's  garden." 


520  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  Ha !  "  quoth  Beltane,  frowning.  "  In  the  garden, 
say  you  —  what  manner  of  man  is  this  ?  " 

"  O  brother  —  a  shapely  man,  a  comely  man  —  a  man 
of  words  and  cunning  phrases  —  a  man  shall  sing  you 
sweet  and  melodious  as  any  bird  —  why,  I  myself  can 
sing  no  sweeter !  " 

"  Cometh  he  there  often,  Giles?  " 

"  Why  lord,  he  cometh  and  he  goeth  —  I  saw  him  there 
this  morning !  " 

"What  doeth  he  there?" 

"  Nay,  who  shall  say  —  Genevra  is  wondrous  fair,  yet 
so  is  she  that  is  Genevra's  friend,  so  do  I  hope  belike  'tis 
she—" 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  Giles !  " 

Now  beholding  Beltane's  fierce  eye  and  how  his  strong 
hands  clenched  themselves,  Giles  incontinent  moved  further 
off  and  spake  in  accents  soft  and  soothing: 

"  And  yet,  tall  brother,  and  yet  'tis  belike  but  some 
gentle  troubadour  that  singeth  songs  to  their  delectation, 
and  'tis  meet  to  hark  to  songs  sweet-sung  —  at  moonrise, 
lord !  " 

"And  wherefore  at  moonrise?" 

"  'Tis  at  this  sweet  hour  your  minstrel  singeth  best. 
Aye  me,  and  to-night  there  is  a  moon !  "  Hereupon  Bel- 
tane must  needs  turn  to  scowl  upon  the  moon  just  topping 
the  distant  woods.  Now  as  they  sat  thus,  cometh  Roger 
with  bread  and  meat  for  his  lord's  acceptance;  but 
Beltane,  setting  it  aside,  stared  on  Roger  with  baleful 
eye. 

"  Roger,"  said  he,  "  wherefore  hast  avoided  me  this 
day?" 

"  Avoided  thee,  master  —  I?  " 

"  And  what  did  you  this  morning  in  the  Reeve's  gar- 
den? " 

"  Master,  in  this  big  world  are  two  beings  that  I  do 
truly  love,  and  thou  art  one  and  the  other  Sir  Fidelis  thy 
right  sweet  and  noble  lady  —  so  is  it  my  joy  to  serve  her 
■when  I  may,  thus  daily  do  I  go  aid  her  with  the  sick." 


Concerning  a  Blue  Camlet  Cloak     521 

"  And  what  of  him  that  singeth ;  saw  you  this  trouba- 
dour within  the  garden  ?  " 

"  Troubadour?  "  quoth  Roger,  staring. 

"  Why  verily,"  nodded  Giles,  "  my  lord  meaneth  the 
tall  and  goodly  fellow  in  the  cloak  of  blue  camlet,  Roger." 

"  Ne'er  have  I  seen  one  in  blue  cloak !  "  said  Roger, 
"  and  this  do  I  swear !  " 

"  None  the  less,"  said  Beltane,  rising,  "  I  will  seek  him 
there  myself." 

"  At  moonrise,  lord?  "  questioned  Giles. 

"  Aye,"  said  Beltane  grimly ;  "  at  moonrise !  "  and 
scowling  he  turned  away. 

"  Aha ! "  quoth  Giles,  nudging  Roger  with  roguish 
elbow,  "  it  worketh,  Roger,  it  worketh !  " 

"  Aye,  Giles,  it  worketh  so  well  that  an  my  master  get 
his  hands  on  this  singing  fellow  —  then  woe  betide  this 
singing  fellow,  say  I." 


CHAPTER  LXVn 

TELLETH  "VrHAT  BEFELI.  IN  THE  REEVE's  GAKDEN 

The  moon  was  already  filling  the  night  with  her  soft 
splendour  when  Beltane,  coming  to  a  certain  wall*,  swung 
himself  up,  and,  being  there,  paused  to  breathe  the  sweet 
perfume  of  the  flowers  whose  languorous  fragrance 
wrought  in  him  a  yearning  deep  and  passionate,  and  ever 
as  love-longing  grew,  bitterness  and  anger  were  forgot. 
Very  still  was  it  within  this  sheltered  garden,  where, 
fraught  by  the  moon's  soft  magic,  all  things  did  seem  to 
find  them  added  beauties. 

But,  even  as  he  paused  thus,  he  heard  a  step  approach- 
ing, a  man's  tread,  quick  and  light  3'et  assured,  and  he 
beheld  one  shrouded  in  a  long  cloak  of  blue,  a  tall  figure 
that  hasted  through  the  garden  and  vanished  behind  the 
tall  yew  hedge. 

Down  sprang  Beltane  fierce-eyed,  trampling  the  tender 
flowers  under  cruel  feet,  and  as  he  in  turn  passed  behind 
the  hedge  the  moon  glittered  evilly  on  his  dagger  blade. 
Quick  and  soft  of  foot  went  he  until,  beholding  a  faint 
light  amid  the  leaves,  he  paused,  then  hasted  on  and  thus 
came  to  an  arbour  bowered  in  eglantine. 

She  sat  at  a  table  where  burned  a  rushlight  that  glowed 
among  the  splendour  of  her  hair,  for  her  head  was  bowed 
above  the  letter  she  was  writing. 

Now  as  he  stood  regarding  her  'neath  frowning  brows, 
she  spake,  vet  lifted  not  her  shapelv  head. 

"Well,  my  lord?" 

"  Helen,  where  is  he  that  came  here  but  now  ?  " 

Slowly  she  lifted  her  head,  and  setting  white  hands 
'neath  dimpled  chin,  met  his  frown  with  eyes  of  gentleness. 


In  the  Reeve's  Garden         523 

"  Nay,  first  put  up  thy  dagger,  my  lord.'* 

"  Helen,"  said  he  again,  grim-Hpped,  "  whom  dost  wait 
for?" 

"  Nay,  first  put  up  thy  dagger,  messire." 

Frowning  he  obeyed,  and  came  a  pace  nearer. 

"  What  do  you  here  with  pen  and  ink-horn?  " 

"  My  lord,  I  write." 

*'To  whom?" 

"  To  such  as  it  pleaseth  me." 

"  I  pray  you  —  show  me." 

"  Nay,  for  that  doth  not  please  me,  messire." 

"  I  pray  you,  who  was  he  that  came  hither  but  now  — 
a  tall  man  in  a  long  blue  cloak?  " 

"  I  saw  him  not,  my  lord." 

"  So  needs  must  I  see  thy  letter." 

"  Nay,  that  thou  shalt  not,  my  lord,"  said  she,  and  rose 
to  her  stately  height. 

*'  Aye,  but  I  shall !  "  quoth  Beltane  softly,  and  came  a 
pace  yet  nearer. 

Now  because  of  the  grim  and  masterful  look  of  him,  her 
heart  fell  a-fluttering,  yet  she  fronted  him  scornful-eyed, 
and  curled  her  red  lip  at  him. 

"  Messire,"  said  she,  "  methinks  you  do  forget  I  am  the 
Duchess,  and  slave  to  no  man,  I  thank  God ! " 

*'  I  remember  thou  art  woman  and  thy  name  —  Helen !  " 

Now  at  this  laughed  she  softly  and  thereafter  falleth  to 
singing  very  sweet  and  blithe  and  merry  withal. 

"  The  letter !  "  said  he,  "  give  me  thy  letter !  " 

Hereupon  she  took  up  the  letter,  and,  yet  singing,  crum- 
pled it  up  within  white  fingers. 

Then  Beltane  set  by  the  table  and  reaching  out  sudden 
arms,  caught  her  up  'neath  waist  and  knee,  and  lifting  her 
high,  crushed  her  upon  his  breast. 

"  Helen !  "  said  he,  low-voiced  and  fierce,  "  mine  art 
thou  as  I  am  thine,  forever,  'twas  so  we  plighted  our  troth 
within  the  green.  Now  for  thy  beauty  I  do  greatly  love 
thee,  but  for  thy  sweet  soul  and  purity  of  heart  I  do 
reverence  and  worship  thee  —  but  an  thou  slay  my  rever- 


524  Beltane  the  Smith 

ent  worship  then  this  night  shalt  thou  die  and  I  with 
thee  —  for  mine  art  thou  and  shalt  be  mine  forever.  Give 
me  thy  letter !  " 

But  now  her  eyes  quailed  'neath  his,  her  white  lids 
drooped,  and  sighing,  she  spake  small-voiced: 

"  O  my  lord,  thine  arms  are  so  —  so  tyrannous  that  I 
do  fear  thee  —  almost !  And  how  may  a  poor  maid,  so 
crushed  and  helpless  thus,  gainsay  thee?  So  prithee,  O 
prithee  take  my  poor  letter  an  thou  wilt  ravish  it  from 
one  so  defenceless  —  O  beseech  thee,  take  it !  " 

So  she  gave  the  crumpled  parchment  into  his  hand,  yet 
while  he  read  it,  nestled  closer  in  his  arms  and  hid  her  face 
against  him ;  for  what  he  read  was  this : 

"  Beloved,  art  thou  angered,  or  sorrowful,  or  humble  in 
thy  foolish  jealousy?  If  angered,  then  must  I  woo  thee. 
If  sorrowful,  cherish  thee.  But  being  Beltane,  needs  must 
I  love  thee  ever  —  so  write  I  this,  bidding  thee  come,  my 
Beltane  the  Smith,  for  I — " 

The  crumpled  letter  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Helen !  "  he  whispered,  "  Beloved,  I  am  all  of  this,  so 
do  I  need  thy  comfort,  thy  cherishing,  and  all  thy  dear 
love  —  turn  thy  head  —  O  Helen,  how  red  is  thy  sweet 
mouth ! "  Then  stooped  he,  and  so  they  kissed  each 
other,  such  kisses  as  they  ne'er  had  known,  until  she 
sighed  and  trembled  and  lay  all  breathless  in  his  arms. 

"  O  my  lord,"  she  whispered,  "  have  mercy,  I  pray ! 
Dear  Beltane,  loose  me  for  I  —  I  have  much  to  tell  thee." 

And  because  of  her  pleading  eyes  he  loosed  her,  and  she, 
sinking  upon  the  bench,  leaned  there  all  flushed  and  tremu- 
lous, and  looking  on  him,  sighed,  and  sighing,  put  up  her 
hands  and  hid  her  face  from  his  regard. 

"  Beltane,"  she  whispered,  "  how  wondrous  a  thing  is 
this  our  love,  so  great  and  fierce  it  f righteth  me  —  see 
how  I  tremble !  "  and  she  held  out  to  him  her  hands. 

Then  came  he  and  knelt  before  her,  and  kissed  those 
slender  fingers  amain. 


In  the  Reeve's  Garden         525 

"  Dear  hands  of  Fidelis,"  said  he,  "  but  for  their  tender 
skill  and  gentle  care  I  had  not  lived  to  know  this  night  — 
O  brave,  small  hands  of  Fidelis !  " 

"  Poor  Fidelis !  "  she  sighed,  "  but  indeed  it  wrung  my 
heart  to  see  thy  woeful  face  when  I  did  tell  thee  Fidelis 
was  lost  to  thee  —  Nay,  Beltane,  stay  —  O  prithee  let  me 
speak  — " 

Quoth  Beltane  'twixt  his  kisses : 

"  Wherefore  wert  so  cold  and  strange  to  me  but  yes- 
terday ?  " 

"  Dear  my  heart,"  she  murmured,  "  I  needs  must  make 
thee  suffer  a  little  —  just  a  very  little,  for  that  I  had 
known  so  much  of  pain  and  heartache  because  of  thee. 
But  I  was  glad  to  see  thee  bear  the  wallet  of  poor 
Fidelis  —  and  O,  'twas  foolish  in  thee  to  grieve  for  him, 
for  he  being  gone,  thy  Helen  doth  remain  —  unless,  for- 
sooth, thou  had  rather  I  came  to  thee  bedight  again  in 
steel  — -  that  did  so  chafe  me.  Beltane  —  indeed,  my  tender 
skin  did  suffer  much  on  thy  account  — " 

"  Then  soon  with  my  kisses  will  I  seek  — "  But  a  cool, 
soft  hand  schooled  his  hot  lips  to  silence  and  the  while  he 
kissed  those  sweet  arresting  fingers,  she  spake  'twixt 
smiling  lips :  "  Prithee  where  is  my  shoe  that  was 
Genevra's?  Indeed,  'twas  hard  matter  to  slip  it  off  for 
thee.  Beltane,  for  Genevra's  foot  is  something  smaller  than 
mine  —  a  very  little !  Nay,  crush  me  not,  messire,  but 
tell  me,  what  of  him  ye  came  hither  seeking  —  the  man  in 
the  long  cloak  —  what  of  him?  " 

"  Nought !  "  answered  Beltane,  "  the  world  to-night 
doth  hold  but  thee  and  me  — " 

"  Aye,  my  Beltane,  as  when  sick  of  thy  wound  within 
the  little  cave  I  nursed  thee,  all  unknown.  O  love,  in  all 
thy  sickness  I  was  with  thee,  to  care  for  thee.  Teaching 
good  Roger  to  tend  thee  and  —  to  drug  thee  to  gentle 
sleep  that  I  might  hold  thee  to  me  in  the  dark  and  —  kiss 
thy  sleeping  lips  — " 

"  Ah !  "  he  sighed,  "  and  methought  'twas  but  a  dream ! 
O  Helen,  sure  none  ever  loved  as  we .''  " 


526 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  Nay,  'twere  thing  impossible,  Beltane.'* 

"  And  thou  art  truly  mine?  " 

"  Beltane  —  thou  dost  know  this !  Ah,  love  —  what 
would  you?  "  For  of  a  sudden  his  mighty  arms  were  close 
about  her,  and  rising,  he  lifted  her  upon  his  breast. 
"  What  would'st  do  with  me.  Beltane?  " 

"Do?"  quoth  he,  "do?  This  night,  this  very  hour 
thou  shalt  wed  me  — " 

"  Nay,  dear  my  lord  —  bethink  thee  — " 

"  It  hath  been  my  thought  —  my  dearest  dream  since 
first  I  saw  thee  within  the  woods  at  Mortain  —  so  now 
shalt  wed  me  — " 

"  But,  Beltane  — " 

"  Shalt  wed  me !  " 

"  Nay,  love,  I  —  I  —  thou  art  so  sudden !  " 

"  Aye,  within  this  hour  shalt  call  me  '  husband  ' !  " 

"  Wilt  force  me,  my  lord?  " 

"  Aye,  verily,"  said  Beltane,  "  as  God  sees  me,  I  will !  " 

"  Why  then,"  she  sighed,  "  how  may  I  gainsay  thee !  " 
and  she  hid  her  face  against  him  once  more.  But,  as  he 
turned  to  leave  the  arbour,  she  stayed  him : 

"  I  prithee,  now,  whither  dost  take  me,  Beltane?  " 

"  To  the  minster  —  anywhere,  so  that  I  find  good  Friar 
Martin." 

"  Nay,  prithee.  Beltane,  prithee  set  me  down !  " 

"  What  would'st,  my  Helen?  " 

*'  Loose  me  and  shalt  see." 

So  Beltane,  sighing,  let  her  go,  whereupon  she  took  a 
small  silver  whistle  that  hung  at  her  girdle  and  sounded  it. 

"  Ah  —  what  do  you?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Wait !  "  said  she,  roguish-eyed. 

And  in  a  while  came  the  sound  of  steps  from  the  outer 
garden,  and  looking  thither.  Beltane  beheld  a  tall  man  in 
cloak  of  blue  camlet,  and  when  this  man  drew  near,  be- 
hold! it  was  Giles. 

"  Giles  !  "  quoth  he,  "  thou  wily  rogue  — " 
"  Giles,"   spake  the  Duchess   softly,  "  I  pray  you  let 
them  come !  " 


In  the  Reeve's  Garden         527 

Then  Giles  bowed  him  low,  and  smiling,  hasted  joy- 
ously away. 

"  Beltane,  dear  my  lord,"  said  the  Duchess  a  little 
breathlessly,  "  because  thou  art  true  man  and  thy  love  is 
a  noble  love,  I  did  lure  thee  hither  to-night  that  I  might 
give  myself  to  thee  in  God's  holy  sight  —  an  so  it  be  thy 
will,  my  lord.  O  Beltane,  yonder  Giles  and  Roger  do 
bring  —  Friar  Martin  to  make  me  —  thy  wife  —  where- 
fore I  do  grow  something  fearful.  'Tis  foolish  in  me  to 
fear  thee  and  yet  —  I  do  —  a  Kttle,  Beltane !  "  So  say- 
ing, she  looked  on  him  with  eyes  full  sweet  and  troubled, 
wherefore  he  would  have  kissed  her,  but  steps  drew  nigh 
and  lo !  without  the  arbour  stood  the  white  friar  with  Giles 
and  Roger  in  the  shadows  behind. 

Now  came  Beltane  and  took  the  friar's  hand. 

"  Holy  father,"  said  he,  "  O  good  Friar  Martin,  though 
I  am  but  what  I  am,  yet  hath  this  sweet  and  noble  lady 
raised  me  up  to  be  what  I  have  dreamed  to  be.  To-night, 
into  my  care  she  giveth  her  sweet  body  and  fair  fame,  of 
which  God  make  me  worthy." 

"  Sweet  children,"  spake  the  friar,  "  this  world  is  oft- 
times  a  hard  and  cruel  world,  but  God  is  a  gentle  God  and 
merciful,  wherefore  as  he  hath  given  to  man  the  blessed 
sun  and  the  sweet  and  tender  flowers,  so  hath  he  given  him 
love.  And  when  two  there  be  who  Jove  with  soul  as  well 
as  body,  with  mind  as  well  as  heart,  then  methinks  for 
them  this  world  may  be  a  paradise.  And,  my  children, 
because  I  do  love  thee  for  thy  sweet  lives  and  noble  works, 
so  do  I  joy  now  to  bind  ye  one  to  another." 

Then  hand  in  hand,  the  Duchess  and  my  Beltane  knelt 
together,  and  because  he  had  no  ring,  needs  must  she  give 
to  him  one  of  hers ;  so  were  they  wed. 

As  one  that  dreamed.  Beltane  knelt  there  murmuring 
the  responses,  and  thus  knelt  he  so  long  that  he  started  to 
feel  a  soft  touch  upon  his  cheek,  and  looking  up,  behold! 
they  were  alone. 

"  Dost  dream,  my  lord?  "  she  questioned,  tender-voiced. 

"  Aye,  verily,"  he  answered,  "  of  the  wonder  of  our  love 


528 


Beltane  the  Smith 


and  thee,  beloved,  as  I  did  see  thee  first  within  the  thicket 
at  Mortain,  beautiful  as  now,  though  then  was  thy  glorious 
hair  unbound.  I  dream  of  thine  eyes  beneath  thy  nun's 
veil  when  I  did  bear  thee  in  my  arms  from  Thornaby  — 
but  most  do  I  dream  of  thee  as  Fidelis,  and  the  clasp  of 
thy  dear  arms  within  the  dark." 

"  But  thou  didst  leave  me  in  Mortain  thicket  despite 
my  hair.  Beltane !  And  thou  didst  tell  me  mine  eyes  were 
not  —  a  nun's  eyes,  Beltane  — " 

"  Wherefore  this  night  do  I  thank  God !  "  said  he,  draw- 
ing her  close  beside  him  on  the  bench. 

"  And  for  my  arms.  Beltane,  thou  didst  think  them 
man's  arms  —  because  they  went  bedight  in  mail,  for- 
sooth!" 

"So  this  night  shall  they  go  bedight  in  kisses  of  my 
mouth !  loose  me  this  sleeve,  I  pray  — " 

"  Nay,  Beltane, —  I  do  beseech  thee  — " 

"  Art  not  my  wife?  " 

*'  Aye,  my  lord." 

"  Then  loose  me  thy  sleeve,  Helen." 

So  blushing,  trembling,  needs  must  she  obey  and  yield 
her  soft  arms  to  his  caresses  and  hide  her  face  because  of 
their  round,  white  nakedness. 

But  in  a  while  she  spake,  low  and  very  humble. 

"  Dear  my  lord,  the  moon  doth  set  already,  methinks !  " 

"  Aye,  but  there  is  no  cloud  to  dim  her  glory  to-night, 
Helen !  " 

"  But  the  hour  waxeth  —  very  late,  my  lord  and  I  — 
must  away." 

"  Aye,  beloved,  let  us  go." 

"  Nay  my  lord,  I  —  O  dear  Beltane  — " 

"  Wife !  "  said  he,  "  dear  my  love  and  wife,  have  I  not 
waited  long  enough?  " 

Hand  in  hand  they  walked  amid  the  flowers  with  eyes 
Ihat  met  but  seldom  and  lips  that  spake  not  at  all;  so 
came  they  to  a  stair  and  up  the  stair  to  a  chamber,  rich 
with  silk  and  arras  and  sweet  with  spicy  odours,  a  chamber 
dim-lighted  by  a  silver  lamp  pendent  from  carven  roof- 


In  the  Reeve's  Garden         529 

beam,  whose  soft  glow  filled  the  place  with  shadow.  Yet 
even  in  this  tender  dimness,  or  because  of  it,  her  colour 
ebbed  and  flowed,  her  breath  came  apace  and  she  stood 
before  him  voiceless  and  very  still  save  for  the  sweet  tumult 
of  her  bosom. 

Then  Beltane  loosed  off  his  sword  and  laid  it  upon  the 
silken  couch,  but  perceiving  how  she  trembled,  he  set  his 
arm  about  her  and  drew  her  to  the  open  lattice  where  the 
moon  made  a  pool  of  glory  at  their  feet. 

"  Dost  fear  me,  Helen  ?  " 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  I  —  think  not." 

*'  Then  wherefore  dost  tremble?  " 

*'  Ah,  Beltane,  thou  methinks  dost  —  tremble  also  ?  " 

Then  Beltane  knelt  him  at  her  feet  and  looked  upon 
her  loveliness  with  ^^earning  eyes,  yet  touched  her  not: 

"  O  beloved  maid !  "  said  he,  "  this  is,  methinks,  because 
of  thy  sweet  virgin  eyes !  For  I  do  so  love  thee,  Helen, 
that,  an  it  be  thy  will,  e'en  now  will  I  leave  thee  until  thy 
heart  doth  call  me !  " 

Now  stooped  she  and  set  her  white  arms  about  him  and 
her  soft  cheek  to  his  hot  brow. 

"  Dear  my  lord  and  —  husband,"  she  whispered,  "  'tis 
for  this  so  sweet  tenderness  in  thee  that  I  do  love  thee  best, 
methinks ! " 

"  And  fear  me  no  more  ?  " 

"  Aye,  my  lord,  I  do  fear  thee  when  —  when  thou  dost 
look  on  me  so,  but  —  when  thou  dost  look  on  me  so  — 'tis 
then  I  do  love  thee  most,  my  Beltane !  " 

Up  to  his  feet  sprang  Beltane  and  caught  her  to  him, 
breast  to  breast  and  lip  to  lip. 

The  great  sword  clattered  to  the  floor ;  but  now,  even 
as  she  sank  in  his  embrace,  she  held  him  off  to  stare  with 
eyes  of  sudden  terror  as,  upon  the  stilly  night  broke  a 
thunderous  rumble,  a  shock,  and  thereafter  sudden  roar 
and  outcry  from  afar,  that  swelled  to  a  wild  hubbub  of 
distant  voices  and  cries,  lost,  all  at  once,  in  the  raving 
clamour  of  the  tocsin. 

Locked  thus  within  each  other's  arms,  eye  questioned 


530  Beltane  the  Smith 

eye,  while  ever  the  bell  beat  out  Its  fierce  alarm.  And 
presently,  within  the  garden  below,  was  the  sound  of  run- 
ning feet  and,  coming  to  the  casement,  Beltane  beheld  a 
light  that  hovered  to  and  fro,  growing  ever  nearer  and 
brighter,  until  he  saw  that  he  who  bore  it  was  Black 
Roger ;  and  Roger's  face  shone  with  sweat  and  his  breath 
laboured  with  his  running. 

"  Master !  "  he  panted,  "  O  master  —  a  mine !  a  mine ! 
They  have  breached  the  wall  beside  the  gate  —  hark, 
where  they  storm  the  city!  Come,  master,  O  come  ere  it 
be  too  late  !  " 

Now  Beltane  clenched  his  fists  and  scowled  on  pale-faced 
Roger  and  from  him  to  the  radiant  sky,  yet  when  he  spake 
his  voice  was  low  and  even : 

"  I  thank  thee,  faithful  Roger !  Go  you  and  summon 
such  of  our  foresters  as  ye  may,  muster  them  in  the  mar- 
ket-square, there  will  I  come  to  thee." 

Now  when  Roger's  flickering  light  had  vanished  he 
turned,  and  found  Helen  close  beside  him ;  her  cheeks  were 
pale,  but  in  her  hand  she  held  his  sword. 

"  'Tis  well  thou  wert  not  all  unarmed,  my  lord !  "  she 
sighed,  and  forthwith  belted  the  weapon  about  him. 
"  Kneel  down,  I  prithee,  that  I  may  lace  for  thee  thy  hood 
of  mail."  And  when  it  was  done  she  knelt  also,  and  taking 
his  hand  pressed  it  to  her  throbbing  heart,  and  holding 
him  thus  fell  to  prayer: 

"  O  God  of  mercy,  have  in  care  those  that  fight  in  our 
defence  this  night,  in  especial  guard  and  shield  this  man 
of  mine  that  I  do  love  beyond  all  men  —  O  God  of  mercy, 
hear  us ! " 

So  they  arose,  and  as  he  looked  on  her  so  looked  she  on 
him,  and  of  a  sudden  clasped  him  in  close  and  passionate 
embrace : 

"  Beltane  —  Beltane  !  "  she  sobbed,  "  God  knoweth  I  do 
so  love  thee  that  thy  dear  flesh  is  mine,  methinks,  and  the 
steel  that  woundeth  thee  shall  hurt  me  also.  And  —  O 
love  —  an  thou  should'st  die  to-night,  then  surely  will  this 
heart  of  mine  die  with  thee  —  no  man  shall  have  my  love 


In  the  Reeve's  Garden         531 

other  than  thou  —  so  to  my  grave  will  I  go  thy  virgin  wife 
for  thy  dear  sake.  Fare  thee  well  Beltane,  O  dear  my 
husband,  fare  thee  well.  Tarry  no  longer,  lest  I  pray  thee 
on  my  knees  to  go  not  to  the  battle," 

So  Beltane  kissed  her  once  and  went  forth  of  the  cham- 
ber, looking  not  back.  She  heard  the  ring  of  his  armour 
a-down  the  stair,  the  quick  tread  of  his  feet,  and  leaning 
from  the  casement  watched  him  go ;  and  he,  knowing  her 
there,  looked  not  up,  but  with  teeth  hard  shut  and  iron 
hands  clenched,  strode  fast  upon  his  way. 

And  now,  since  he  looked  not  up,  it  seemed  to  her  she 
was  out  of  his  thoughts  already,  for  his  face  was  stern 
and  set,  and  in  his  eyes  was  the  fierce  light  of  battle. 

And  she,  kneeling  alone  in  the  failing  glory  of  the  moon, 
hid  her  face  within  yearning,  desolate  arms  and  wept  long 
and  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  LXVIII 

FRIAR    martin's    DYING    PROPHECY 

Now  as  Beltane  hasted  along  he  heard  the  tread  of  mailed 
feet,  and  looking  round  beheld  the  white  friar,  and  'neath 
his  white  frock  mail  gleamed,  while  in  his  hand  he  grasped 
a  heavy  sword.  Close  on  his  heels  came  many  men,  old 
men  these  for  the  most  part,  grey  of  beard  and  white  of 
head,  and  their  armour,  even  as  they,  was  ancient  and 
rusty ;  but  the  faces  that  stared  from  casque  and  mail- 
hood  v/ere  grim  and  sorrow-lined,  stern  faces  and  purpose- 
ful, and  the  eyes  that  gleamed  'neath  shaggy  brows  ere 
now  had  looked  on  sons  and  brothers  done  to  death  by  fire 
and  gallows,  and  wives  and  daughters  shamed  and  rav- 
ished. And  ever  as  they  came  Friar  Martin  smote,  sword 
in  hand,  on  door  and  shuttered  window,  and  cried  hoarse 
and  loud : 

"  Ye  men  of  Belsaye  —  fathers  and  husbands,  ann  ye, 
arm  ye !  Ye  greybeards  that  have  seen  Duke  Ivo's  mercy, 
arm  ye !  Your  foes  be  in,  to  burn,  to  loot  again  and 
ravish !  O  ye  husbands  and  fathers,  arise,  arise  —  arm, 
arm  and  follow  me  to  smite  for  wife  and  children !  " 

So  cried  the  tall  white  friar,  pallid  of  cheek  but  daunt- 
less of  eye,  and  ever  as  he  cried,  smote  he  upon  door  and 
shutter  with  his  sword,  and  ever  his  company  grew. 

Within  the  square  was  Roger,  hoarse-voiced,  with  Bel- 
tane's battered  war-helm  on  a  pike  whereto  the  foresters 
mustered  —  hardy  and  brown-faced  men,  fitting  on  basci- 
net  and  buckling  belt,  yet  very  quiet  and  orderly.  And 
beside  Roger,  Ulf  the  Mighty  leaned  him  upon  his  axe,  and 
in  the  ranks  despite  their  bandages  stood  Orson  the  Tall 
and  Jenkyn  o'  the  Ford,  even  yd  in  wordy  disputation. 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      533 

Quoth  Beltane: 

"  How  many  muster  ye,  Roger?  " 

"  One  hundred  and  nine,  master." 

"  And  where  is  Walkyn  —  where  Giles  ?  " 

"  With  Sir  Benedict,  hard  by  the  gate,  master.  My 
lord,  come  take  thy  helm  —  come  take  it,  master,  'twill  be 
a  close  and  bitter  fight  —  and  thou  art  no  longer  thine 
own  man  —  bethink  thee  of  thy  sweet  vnie,  Sir  Fidelis, 
master !  " 

So  Beltane  did  on  the  great  casque  and  even  now  came 
Sir  Brian  beside  whom  Sir  Hacon  limped,  yet  with  sword 
bloody. 

"  Ha,  my  lord,"  he  cried,  "  mine  eyes  do  joy  to  see  thee 
and  these  goodly  fellows  — 'tis  hard  and  fierce  business 
where  Benedict  and  his  pikes  do  hold  the  gate  — " 

"  Aye,  forsooth,"  quoth  Sir  Brian,  "  they  press  their 
attack  amain,  for  one  that  falleth,  two  do  fill  his  place." 

"  Veril}^,  and  what  fighting  man  could  ask  more  of  any 
foe?  And  we  be  fighting  men,  praise  be  to  Saint  Cuth- 
bert  — " 

"  Aj^e,"  quoth  Roger,  crossing  himself,  "  Saint  Cuthbert 
be  our  aid  this  night." 

Forthwith  Beltane  formed  his  column  and  with  Ulf  and 
Roger  beside  him  marched  from  the  square.  By  narrow 
streets  went  they,  'neath  dim-lighted  casements  where  pale 
faces  looked  down  to  pray  heaven's  aid  on  them. 

So  came  they  where  torch  and  lanthorn  smoked  and 
gleamed,  by  whose  fitful  light  they  beheld  a  barricade, 
rough  and  hastily  contrived,  whence  Sir  Benedict  fought 
and  Walkyn  smote,  with  divers  of  their  stout  company  and 
lust}"^  fellows  from  the  town.  Above,  upon  the  great  flank- 
ing tower  of  the  gate,  was  Giles  with  many  archers  who 
phed  their  whizzing  shafts  amain  where,  'twixt  outer  and 
inner  wall,  the  assailants  sought  to  storm  the  barricade; 
but  the  place  was  narrow,  and  moreover,  beyond  the 
breach  stout  Eric,  backed  by  his  fierce  townsmen,  fought 
in  desperate  battle :  thus,  though  the  besiegers'  ranks  were 
constantly  swelled  by  way  of  the  breach,  yet  in  that  con- 


534  Beltane  the  Smith 

fined  space  their  very  numbers  hampered  them,  while  from 
sheltered  wall  and  gate-tower  Giles  and  his  archers 
showered  them  with  whistling  shafts  very  fast  and  furious ; 
so  in  that  narrow  place  death  was  rife  and  in  the  fitful 
torch-glare  was  a  sea  of  tossing  steel  and  faces  fierce  and 
wild,  and  ever  the  clamour  grew,  shouts  and  screams  and 
cries  dreadful  to  be  heard. 

Now  as  Beltane  stood  to  watch  this,  grim-lipped,  for  it 
needed  but  few  to  man  the  barricade,  so  narrow  was  it, 
Roger  caught  his  arm  and  pointed  to  the  housetops  above 
them ;  and  what  he  sav/,  others  saw  also,  and  a  cry  went 
up  of  wonder  and  amaze.  For,  high  upon  the  roof,  his 
mail  agleam,  his  white  robe  whiter  in  the  torch-glare, 
stood  Friar  Martin,  while  crouched  behind  him  to  left  and 
right  were  many  men  in  ancient  and  rusty  armour,  men 
grey-bearded  and  white  of  head,  at  sight  of  whom  the  roar 
of  battle  died  down  from  sheer  amaze  until  all  men  might 
hear  the  friar's  words : 

"  Come,  ye  men  of  Belsaye ! "  he  cried,  "  all  ye  that  do 
love  wife  or  daughter  or  little  child  —  all  ye  that  would 
maintain  them  innocent  and  pure  —  follow  me !  " 

As  he  ended,  his  sword  flashed,  and,  even  as  he  sprang, 
so  sprang  all  those  behind  him  —  down,  down  they  leapt 
upon  the  close-ranked  foemen  below,  so  swift,  so  sudden 
and  unexpected,  that  ere  they  could  be  met  with  pike  or 
sword  the  thing  was  done.  And  now  from  that  narrow 
way,  dim-lit  by  lanthom  and  torch-glare,  there  rose  a 
sound  more  awful  to  hear  than  roar  of  battle,  a  hoarse 
and  vicious  sound  like  to  the  worrying  snarl  of  many  great 
and  fierce  hounds. 

With  ancient  swords,  with  axe  and  dagger  and  fierce- 
rending  teeth  they  fought,  those  fathers  of  Belsaye ;  thick 
and  fast  they  fell,  yet  never  alone,  while  ever  they  raved 
on,  a  company  of  madmen,  behind  the  friar's  white  robe. 
Back  and  back  the  besiegers  reeled  before  that  raging 
fury  —  twice  the  white  friar  was  smitten  down  yet  twice 
he  arose,  smiting  the  fiercer,  wherefore,  because  of  his  re- 
ligious habit,  the  deathly  pallor  of  his  sunken  cheek  and 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      535 

the  glare  of  his  eyes,  panic  came,  and  all  men  shrank  from 
the  red  sweep  of  his  sword. 

Then  Sir  Benedict  sounded  his  horn,  and  sword  in  hand 
leapt  over  the  barricade,  and  behind  him  Beltane  with 
Roger  and  Ulf  and  Walkyn  and  their  serried  pikemen, 
while  Sir  Brian  and  Sir  Hacon  limped  in  their  rear. 

"  The  breach !  "  cried  Sir  Benedict,  "  seize  we  now  the 
breach !  " 

"  The  breach !  The  breach  !  "  roared  a  hundred  voices. 
And  now  within  the  gloom  steel  rasped  steel,  groping  hands 
seized  and  griped  with  merciless  fingers ;  figures,  dim-seen, 
sank  smitten,  groaning  beneath  the  press.  But  on  they 
fought,  slipping  and  stumbling,  hewing  and  thrusting,  up 
and  up  over  ruined  masonry,  over  forms  that  groaned  be- 
neath cruel  feet  —  on  and  ever  on  until  within  the  narrow 
breach  Beltane's  long  sword  darted  and  thrust  and  Ulf's 
axe  whirled  and  fell,  while  hard  by  Walkyn's  hoarse  shout 
went  up  in  roaring  triumph. 

So  within  this  narrow  gap,  where  shapeless  things 
stirred  and  whimpered  in  the  dark.  Beltane  leaned  breath- 
less upon  his  sword  and  looked  down  upon  the  watch-fires 
of  Duke  Ivo's  great  camp.  But,  even  as  he  gazed,  these 
fires  were  blotted  out  where  dark  figures  mounted  fresh 
to  the  assault,  and  once  again  sword  and  axes  fell  to  their 
dire  work. 

And  ever  as  he  fought  Beltane  bethought  him  of  her 
whose  pure  lips  voiced  prayers  for  him,  and  his  mighty 
arm  grew  mightier  yet,  and  he  smote  and  thrust  untiring, 
while  Walkyn  raged  upon  his  left,  roaring  amain  for  Red 
Pertolepe,  and  Ulf  the  strong  saved  his  breath  to  ply  his 
axe  the  faster. 

Now  presently  as  they  fought  thus,  because  the  breach 
was  grown  very  slippery.  Beltane  tripped  and  fell,  but  in 
that  instant  two  lusty  mailed  legs  bestrode  him,  and  from 
the  dimness  above  Roger's  voice  hailed : 

"  Get  thee  back,  master  —  I  pray  thee  get  back  and 
take  thy  rest  awhile,  my  arm  is  fresh  and  my  steel  scarce 
bloodied,  so  get  thee  to  thy  rest  —  moreover  thou  art  a 


536 


Beltane  the  Smith 


notch,  lord  —  another   accursed  notch   from   my   belt !  " 

Wherefore  Beltane  presently  crept  down  from  the  breach 
and  thus  beheld  many  men  who  laboured  amain  beneath 
Sir  Benedict's  watchful  eye  to  build  a  defence  work  very 
high  and  strong  where  they  might  command  the  breach. 
And  as  Beltane  sat  thus,  finding  himself  very  spent  and 
weary,  cometh  Giles  beside  him. 

"  Lord,"  said  he,  leaning  him  on  his  bow,  "  the  attack 
doth  languish,  methinks,  wherefore  I  do  praise  the  good 
God,  for  had  they  won  the  town  —  ah,  when  I  do  think 
on  —  her  —  she  that  is  so  pure  and  sweet  —  and  Ivo's 
base  soldiery  —  O  sweet  Jesu  !  "  and  Giles  shivered. 

"  Forsooth,  thou  didst  see  fair  Belsaye  sacked  —  five 
years  agone,  Giles  ^  " 

"  Aye,  God  forgive  me  master,  for  I  —  I  —  0,  God 
forgive  me !  " 

"  Thou  once  did  show  me  a  goodly  chain,  I  mind  me, 
Giles." 

"  Aye,  but  I  lost  it  —  I  lost  it,  master ! "  he  cried 
eagerly,  "  O  verily  I  did  lose  it,  so  did  it  avail  me  noth- 
ing-" 

"  Moreover,  Giles,  thou  didst  with  knowing  laugh, 
vaunt  that  the  women  of  Belsaye  town  were  marvellous 
fair  —  and  methinks  didst  speak  truly,  Giles !  " 

Now  at  this  Giles  bowed  his  head  and  turning  him  about, 
went  heavily  upon  his  way.  Then,  sighing,  Beltane  arose 
and  came  where  stood  Sir  Benedict  who  forthwith  hailed 
him  blithely : 

"  Can  we  but  hold  them  until  the  dawn.  Beltane  —  and 
mark  me,  we  can,  here  is  a  work  shall  make  us  strong 
'gainst  all  attacks,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  growing  bar- 
ricade. "But  what  of  our  noble  Friar  Martin.'^  But  for 
him.  Beltane,  but  for  him  and  his  ancient  company  we  had 
been  hard  put  to  it,  lad.  Ha,  'neath  that  white  gown  is 
saint  and  friar,  and,  what  is  better  —  a  man !  Now  God 
be  praised,  yonder  cometh  the  dawn  at  last !  Though  for- 
sooth this  hath  been  a  sorry  wedding-night  for  thee,  dear 
lad  —  and  for  her,  sweet  maid  — " 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      537 

"  Thou  dost  know  then,  Benedict?  " 

"  Think  ye  not  good  Roger  hasted  to  tell  me,  knowing 
thy  joy  is  my  joy  —  ha !  list  ye  to  those  blessed  joy-bells ! 
glor}'  be  to  God,  there  doth  trusty  Eric  tell  us  he  hath 
made  an  end  of  such  as  stormed  the  breach.  But  who 
cometh  here  ?     And  by  this  hand,  in  tears !  " 

Already  in  the  east  was  a  roseate  glory  by  whose  soft 
light  Beltane  beheld  Tall  Orson,  who  grasped  a  bloody 
sword  in  one  hand  and  wiped  away  his  tears  with  the 
other.  He,  perceiving  Beltane  and  Sir  Benedict,  limped 
to  them  forthwith  and  spake,  albeit  hoarse  and  brokenly. 

"  Lords,  I  do  be  bid  hither  to  bring  ye  where  he  lieth 
a-dying  —  the  noblest  as  do  be  in  this  world  alive  —  his 
white  robe  all  bloodied,  lords,  j^et  his  face  do  be  an  angel's 
face !  " 

"  Ah,"  sighed  Beltane  rising,  "  is  it  the  noble  Friar  Mar- 
tin, Orson  ?  " 

"  Aye,  lord,  it  do  be  he  —  as  blessed  me  wi'  his  poor 
hand  as  do  be  so  faint  and  feeble." 

So  saying,  Orson  brought  them  to  a  house  beside  the 
wall,  wherein,  upon  a  pallet,  the  white  friar  lay  with  Jen- 
kyn  beside  him,  and  the  white-haired  Reeve  and  many  other 
of  the  sturdy  townsfolk  about  him. 

Now  came  Beltane  to  kneel  beside  the  friar, 
who,  opening  swooning  eyes,  smiled  and  spake  faint- 
voiced  : 

"  My  lord  Beltane  —  noble  son,  my  work  on  earth  is 
ended,  methinks  —  so  doth  God  call  me  hence  —  and  I  do 
go  right  gladly.  These  dying  eyes  grow  dim  —  but  with 
the  deathless  eyes  of  the  soul  I  do  see  many  things  most 
plainl3'^  —  so,  dear  and  valiant  children,  hear  ye  this  !  The 
woes  of  Belsaye  are  past  and  done  —  behold,  thy  deliver- 
ance is  at  hand !  I  see  one  that  rideth  from  the  north  — 
and  this  I  give  thee  for  a  sign  —  he  is  tall,  this  man, 
bedight  in  sable  armour  and  mounted  upon  a  great  white 
horse.  And  behind  him  marcheth  a  mighty  following  — 
the  woods  be  bright  with  the  gleam  of  armour!  O  ye 
valiant  men  —  O  children  of  Belsaye  that  I  have  loved  so 


538 


Beltane  the  Smith 


well,  let  now  your  hearts  be  glad !  O  Belsaye  town,  thy 
shames  and  sorrows  be  passed  away  forever.  I  see  thee 
through  the  years  a  rich  city  and  a  happy,  thy  gates  ever 
open  to  the  woeful  and  distressed!  Rejoice,  rejoice  — 
thy  sorrows  are  past  and  done  —  even  as  mine.     Ah,  list 

—  list  ye  to  those  bells !     Hear  ye  not  their  joyful  clamour 

—  hearken !  " 

But  indeed,  silence  had  fallen  upon  Belsaye,  and  no 
sound  brake  the  quiet  save  the  distant  hum  and  stir  of  con- 
flict upon  the  broken  wall.  Nevertheless  the  friar's  dying 
face  waxed  bright  with  a  wondrous  happiness. 

"  O  blessed  —  blessed  sound  !  "  he  whispered.  Of  a 
sudden  he  rose  up  from  his  pillow  with  radiant  eyes  up- 
lifted, and  stretched  up  arms  in  eager  welcome. 

"  Sweet  Jesu !  "  he  whispered.  Slowly  his  arms  sank, 
the  thin  hands  strove  to  fold  themselves  —  fell  apart,  and, 
sighing  rapturously.  Friar  Martin  sank  back  upon  his 
pillows  like  one  that  is  weary,  and,  with  the  sigh,  was 
dead.  And  lo !  in  that  same  moment,  from  tower  and  bel- 
fry near  and  far,  rose  a  sudden  wild  and  gladsome  clamour 
of  bells  ringing  out  peal  on  peal  of  rapturous  joy,  inso- 
much that  those  who  knelt  beside  that  couch  of  death 
lifted  bowed  heads  —  eye  questioning  eye  in  a  wonder 
beyond  words. 

And  now,  all  at  once  was  the  ring  and  tramp  of  mailed 
feet  coming  swiftly,  and  in  the  doorway  stood  Roger,  his 
riven  mail  befouled  with  battle. 

"  Lords  !  "  he  panted,  "  rejoice  —  rejoice !  our  woes  and 
sorrows  be  past  and  done  —  hark  ye  to  the  bells!  Our 
deliverance  cometh  from  the  north  —  you  shall  see  the 
woods  alight  with  —  the  gleam  of  their  armour !  " 

Nothing  saying.  Beltane  arose  and  went  soft-treading 
from  the  chamber,  past  the  blood  and  horror  of  the  breach, 
and  climbing  the  flanking  tower  beside  the  gate,  looked  to 
the  north.  And  there  he  beheld  a  mighty  company  that 
marched  forth  of  the  woods,  rank  upon  rank,  whose  ar- 
mour, flashing  in  the  early  sun,  made  a  dazzling  splendour 
against  the  green.      Company  by  company  they  mustered 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      539 

on  the  plain,  knights  and  men-at-arms  with  footmen  and 
archers  beyond  count. 

And  presently,  before  this  deep  array,  two  standards 
were  advanced  —  a  white  banner  whereon  was  a  red  lion 
and  a  banner  on  whose  blue  ground  black  leopards  were 
enwrought. 

Now  as  Beltane  gazed  upon  this  glorious  host  he  felt  a 
gentle  hand  touch  him  and  turning,  beheld  the  Duchess 
Helen,  and  her  cheek  showed  pale  with  her  long  night 
vigil. 

"'  My  Beltane,"  said  she,  flushing  'neath  his  regard, 
*'  lord  Duke  of  Mortain,  behold  yonder  thy  goodly  powers 
of  Mortain  that  shall  do  thy  bidding  henceforth  —  look 
yonder,  my  lord  Duke !  " 

"  Duke !  "  quoth  Beltane,  "  Duke  of  Mortain  —  for- 
sooth, and  am  I  so  indeed?  I  had  forgot  this  quite,  in 
thy  beauty,  my  Helen,  and  did  but  know  that  I  had  to  wife 
one  that  I  do  love  beyond  all  created  things.  And  now, 
beloved,  thy  sweet  eyes  do  tell  me  thy  night  was  sleep- 
less." 

"  Mine  eyes  —  ah,  look  not  on  them.  Beltane,  for  well 
I  know  these  poor  eyes  be  all  red  and  swollen  with  weep- 
ing for  thee  —  though  indeed  I  bathed  them  ere  I  sought 
thee  — " 

"  Sweet  eyes  of  love !  "  said  he,  setting  his  arm  about 
her,  "  come  let  me  kiss  them !  " 

"  Ah,  no,  BeRane,  look  yonder  —  behold  where  salva- 
tion Cometh  — " 

"  I  had  rather  look  where  my  salvation  lieth,  within 
these  dear  eyes  —  nay,  abase  them  not.  And  didst  weep 
for  me,  and  wake  for  me,  my  Helen  ?  " 

"  I  was  so  —  so  fearful  for  thee,  my  lord." 

**  Aye,  and  what  more?" 

*'  And  very  sorrowful  — " 

"Aye,  and  what  more?  " 

"  And  —  heartsick  — " 

"  Aye,  sweet  my  wife  —  but  what  more  ?  " 

"  And  —  very  lonely,  Beltane  — " 


540  Beltane  the  Smith 

Then  my  Beltane  caught  her  close  and  kissed  her  full 
long,  until  she  struggled  in  his  embrace  and  slipping  from 
him,  stood  all  flushed  and  breathless  and  shy-eyed.  But 
of  a  sudden  she  caught  his  hand  and  pointed  where,  before 
the  glittering  ranks  of  Mortain's  chivalry,  a  herald  ad- 
vanced. 

"  Look,  Beltane,"  she  said,  "  oh,  look  and  tell  me  who 
rideth  yonder !  " 

Now  behind  this  herald  two  knights  advanced,  the  one 
in  glittering  armour  whose  shield  was  resplendent  with 
many  quarterings,  but  beholding  his  companion,  Beltane 
stared  in  wondering  awe ;  for  lo !  he  saw  a  tall  man  bedight 
in  sable  armour  who  bore  a  naked  sword  that  flashed  in  the 
sun  and  who  bestrode  a  great,  white  charger.  And  be- 
cause of  Friar  Martin's  dying  words.  Beltane  stood  awed 
and  full  of  amaze. 

Nearer  and  nearer  they  came  until  all  men  might  read 
the  cognizance  upon  the,  first  knight's  resplendent  shield 
and  know  him  for  one  Sir  Jocelyn,  lord  of  Alain,  but  his 
companion  they  knew  not,  since  neither  charge  nor  blazon 
bore  he  of  any  sort.  Of  a  sudden  the  herald  set  clarion  to 
lip  and  blew  a  challenge  that  v/as  taken  up  and  answered 
from  within  the  camp,  and  forth  came  Duke  Ivo,  bare- 
headed in  his  armour  and  with  knights  attendant,  who, 
silencing  the  heralds  with  a  gesture,  spake  loud  and  fierce. 

"  Sir  Jocelyn,  lord  of  Alain,  why  come  ye  against  me  in 
arms  and  so  ungently  arrayed,  wherefore  come  ye  in  such 
force,  and  for  what?  " 

Then  answered  Sir  Jocelyn: 

"  My  lord  Ivo,  thou  wert  upon  a  time  our  honoured 
guest  within  Mortain,  thou  didst  with  honeyed  word  and 
tender  phrase  woo  our  fair  young  Duchess  to  wife.  But 
—  and  heed  this,  my  lord !  —  when  Helen  the  Beautiful, 
the  Proud,  did  thy  will  gainsay,  thou  didst  in  hearing  of 
divers  of  her  lords  and  counsellors  vow  and  swear  to  come 
one  day  and  seek  her  with  flaming  brands.  So  here  to- 
day stand  I  and  divers  other  gentles  of  Mortain  —  in 
especial  this  right  noble  lord  —  to  tell  thee  that  so  long 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      541 

as  we  be  men  ne'er  shalt  set  foot  across  our  marches^ 
Lastly,  we  are  hither  come  to  demand  the  safe  conduct 
from  Belsaye  of  our  lady  Duchess  Helen,  and  such  of 
the  citizens  as  may  choose  to  follow  her." 

"  So !  "  quoth  Duke  Ivo,  smiling  and  fingering  his  long,, 
blue  chin,  "  'tis  war  ye  do  force  on  me,  my  lord  of 
Alain?" 

"  Nay,  messire,"  answered  Sir  Jocelyn,  "  that  must  be 
asked  of  this  sable  knight  —  for  he  is  greater  than  I,  and 
leadeth  where  I  do  but  follow." 

Now  hereupon  the  black  knight  paced  slowly  forward 
upon  his  great,  white  horse  nor  stayed  until  he  came  close 
beside  Duke  Ivo.  Then  reining  in  his  charger,  he  lifted 
his  vizor  and  spake  in  voice  deep  and  strong. 

"  O  thou  that  men  call  Ivo  the  Duke,  look  upon  this 
face  —  behold  these  white  hairs,  this  lined  brow !  Bethink 
thee  of  the  innocent  done  to  cruel  death  by  thy  will,  the 
fair  cities  given  to  ravishment  and  flame  —  and  judge  if 
this  be  just  and  sufficient  cause  for  war,  and  bitter  war, 
betwixt  us !  " 

Now  beholding  the  face  of  the  speaker,  his  proud  and 
noble  bearing,  his  bold  eyes  fierce  and  bright  and  the  grim 
line  of  nose  and  chin,  Duke  Ivo  blenched  and  drew  back, 
the  smile  fled  from  his  lip,  and  he  stared  wide  of  eye  and 
breathless. 

"  Beltane  !  "  quoth  he  at  last,  "  Beltane  —  ha !  me- 
thought  thee  dusty  bones  these  many  years  —  so  it  is  war, 
I  judge.'*  " 

For  answer  Duke  Beltane  lifted  on  high  the  long  sword 
he  bore. 

"  Ivo,"  said  he,  "  the  cries  and  groans  of  my  sorrowful 
and  distressed  people  have  waked  me  from  my  selfish  griefs 
at  last  —  so  am  I  come  for  vengeance  on  their  innocent 
blood,  their  griefs  and  wrongs  so  long  endured  of  thee. 
This  do  I  swear  thee,  that  this  steel  shall  go  unsheathed 
until  I  meet  thee  in  mortal  combat  —  and  ere  this  sun  be 
set  one  of  us  twain  shall  be  no  more." 

"  Be  it  so,"  answered  Black  Ivo,  "  this  night  belike  I 


542  Beltane  the  Smith 

shall  hang  thee  above  the  ruins  of  Belsaye  yonder,  and  thy 
son  with  thee  I  "  So  saying,  he  turned  about  and  chin  on 
fist  rode  into  his  camp,  where  was  mounting  and  mustering 
in  hot  haste. 

"  Beltane,"  spake  the  Duchess,  clasping  Beltane's  hand, 
"  dost  know  at  last  ?  " 

"  Aye,"  answered  he  with  eyes  aglow,  "  But  how  com- 
eth  my  noble  father  yonder?  " 

"  I  sought  him  out  in  Holy  Cross  Thicket,  Beltane,  I 
told  him  of  thy  valiant  doings  and  of  thy  need  of  instant 
aid,  and  besought  him  to  take  up  arms  for  thee  and  for 
me  and  for  dear  Mortain,  and  to  lead  my  army  'gainst  — " 

But  Beltane,  falling  before  her  on  his  knee  spake  quick 
and  passionate: 

"  O  Helen  —  Helen  the  Beautiful !  without  thee  I  had 
been  nought,  and  less  than  nought!  Without  thee,  Pen- 
tavalon  had  groaned  yet  'neath  cruel  wrong!  Without 
thee  —  O  without  thee,  my  Helen,  I  were  a  thing  lost  and 
helpless  in  very  truth  !  " 

Now  hereupon,  being  first  and  foremost  a  woman,  young 
and  loving  and  passionate,  needs  must  she  weep  over  him 
a  little  and  stoop  to  cherish  his  golden  head  on  her  bosom, 
and  holding  it  thus  sweetly  pillowed,  to  kiss  him  full  oft 
and  thereafter  loose  him  and  blush  and  sigh  and  turn  from 
his  regard,  all  sweet  and  shy  demureness  like  the  very  maid 
she  was. 

Whereat  Beltane,  forgetful  of  all  but  her  loveliness, 
heedful  of  nought  in  the  world  but  her  warm  young  beauty, 
rose  up  from  his  knees  and,  trembling-mute  with  love, 
would  have  caught  her  to  his  eager  arms ;  but  of  a  sudden 
cometh  Giles,  breathless  —  hasting  up  the  narrow  stair 
and,  all  heedless  of  his  lord,  runneth  to  fling  himself  upon 
his  knees  before  the  Duchess,  to  catch  her  robe  and  kiss  it 
oft. 

"  O  dear  and  gracious  lady  I "  he  cried,  "  Genevra  hath 
told  me!  And  is  it  true  thou  hast  promised  me  a  place 
within  thy  court  at  fair  Mortain  —  is  it  true  thou  wilt 
lift  me  up  that  I  may  wed  with  one  so  much  o'er  me  in 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      543 

station  —  is  it  true  thou  wilt  give  me  my  Genevra,  my 
heart's  desire  —  all  unworthy  though  I  be  —  I  —  O  — " 
And  behold!  Giles's  ready  tongue  faltered  for  very  grati- 
tude and  on  each  tanned  cheek  were  bright,  quick-falling 
tears. 

"  Giles,"  said  she,  "  thou  wert  true  and  faithful  to  my 
lord  when  his  friends  were  few,  so  methinks  thou  should'st 
be  faithful  and  true  to  thy  sweet  Genevra  —  so  will  I 
make  thee  Steward  and  Bailiff  of  Mortain  an  my  lord  is  in 
accord  — " 

"  Lord,"  quoth  Giles  brokenly,  "  ere  thou  dost  speak, 
beseech  thee  hear  this.  I  have  thought  on  thy  saying 
regarding  my  past  days  —  and  grieved  sorely  therefore. 
Now  an  ye  do  think  my  shameful  past  beyond  redemption, 
if  these  arms  be  too  vile  to  clasp  her  as  my  wife,  if  my 
love  shall  bring  her  sorrow  or  shame  hereafter,  then  — 
because  I  do  truly  love  her  —  I  will  see  her  no  more;  I 
will  —  leave  her  to  love  one  more  worthy  than  I.  And 
this  I  do  swear  thee,  master  —  on  the  cross !  " 

Quoth  Beltane: 

"  Giles,  he  that  knoweth  himself  unworthy,  if  that  his 
love  be  a  true  love,  shall  by  that  love  make  himself,  may- 
hap, worthier  than  most.  He  that  loveth  so  greatly  that 
in  his  love  base  self  is  forgot  —  such  a  man,  methinks, 
doth  love  in  God-like  fashion.  So  shall  it  be  as  my  lady 
hath  said." 

Then  Giles  arose,  and  wiping  off  his  tears  strove  to 
speak  his  thanks  but  choked  upon  a  sob  instead,  and  turn- 
ing, hasted  down  the  turret  stair. 

Now  presently  within  the  city  Sir  Benedict's  trumpets 
blew,  and  looking  from  the  battlement  Beltane  beheld  Sir 
Hacon  mustering  their  stout  company,  knights  and  men- 
at-arms,  what  time  Roger  and  Walkyn  and  Ulf  ordered 
what  remained  of  their  pikemen  and  archers. 

"  Beloved !  "  sighed  Beltane,  drawing  his  Duchess  within 
his  arm,  "  see  yonder,  'tis  horse  and  saddle  —  soon  must  I 
leave  thee  again." 

Now  did  she  sigh  amain,  and  cling  to  him  and  droop  her 


544  Beltane  the  Smith 

lovely  head,  yet  when  she  spake  her  words  were  brave: 

"  My  Beltane,  this  love  of  mine  is  such  that  I  would  not 
have  thee  fail  in  duty  e'en  though  this  my  heart  should 
break  —  but  ah !  husband,  stay  yet  a  little  longer,  I  —  I 
have  been  a  something  lonely  wife  hitherto,  and  I  —  do 
hate  loneliness,  Beltane  — "  A  mailed  foot  sounded  upon 
the  stone  stair  and,  turning  about,  they  beheld  a  knight  in 
resplendent  armour,  blazoned  shield  slung  before. 

"  Greeting  to  thee,  my  lord  Duke  of  Mortain,  and  to 
thy  lovely  lady  wife,"  spake  a  cheery  voice,  and  the 
speaker,  lifting  his  vizor,  behold !  it  was  Sir  Benedict.  "  I 
go  in  mine  own  armour  to-day.  Beltane,  that  haply  thy 
noble  father  shall  know  me  in  the  press.  Ha,  see  where 
he  ordereth  his  line,  'twas  ever  so  his  custom,  I  mind  me 
—  in  four  columns  with  archers  betwixt,  Mark  me  now 
lad,  I  have  brought  thee  here  a  helm  graced  with  these 
foolish  feathers  as  is  the  new  fashion  —  white  feathers, 
see  you  —  that  my  lady's  sweet  eyes  may  follow  thee  in  the 
affray." 

"  For  that,  dear  Benedict,"  cried  she,  "  for  that  shalt 
kiss  me,  so  off  with  thy  great  helm ! "  Forthwith  Sir 
Benedict  did  off  his  casque,  and  stooping,  kissed  her  full- 
lipped,  and  meeting  Beltane's  eye,  flushed  and  laughed 
and  was  solemn  all  in  a  moment. 

"  Ah,  Beltane,  dear  lad,"  quoth  he,  "  I  envy  thee  and 
grieve  for  thee !  To  possess  such  a  maid  to  wife  —  and  to 
leave  her  —  so  soon !  May  God  bring  thee  safe  again  to 
her  white  arms.  Ah,  youth  is  very  sweet,  lad,  and  love  — 
true  love  is  youth's  fair  paradise  and  —  body  o'  me,  there 
sound  our  tuckets !  See  where  Ivo  f  ormeth  his  main  bat- 
tle —  and  yonder  he  posteth  a  goodly  company  to  shut  us 
up  within  the  city.  So  must  we  wait  a  while  until  the  bat- 
tle joins  —  thy  noble  father  is  wondrous  wise  In  war  — 
O  verily  he  hath  seen,  behold  how  he  altereth  his  array ! 
O  wise  Beltane !  " 

Now  Duke  Ivo  threw  out  a  screen  of  archers  and  horse- 
men to  harass  the  powers  of  Mortain  what  time  he  formed 
his  battle  in  three  great  companies,  a  deep  and  formidable 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      545 

array  of  knights  and  men-at-arms  whose  tall  lances  rose, 
a  very  forest,  with  pennons  and  banderols  a-flutter  in  the 
gentle  wind  of  morning.  Far  on  the  left  showed  the  ban- 
ner of  his  marshal  Sir  Bors ;  above  his  right  battle  fiew 
the  Raven  banner  of  Sir  Pertolepe  the  Red,  and  above  his 
main  battle  rose  his  own  standard  —  a  black  lion  on  a  red 
field.  So  mustered  he  his  pov/ers  of  Pentavalon,  gay  with 
stir  of  pennons  and  rich  trappings;  the  sun  flashed  back 
from  ponderous  casques  and  bascinets  innumerable  and 
flamed  on  blazoned  shields.  And  beholding  their  might 
and  confident  bearing,  Beltane  clenched  nervous  hands  and 
his  mouth  grew  hard  and  grim,  so  turned  he  from  this 
formidable  host  to  where,  just  beyond  the  woods,  his 
father's  banner  flew  beside  the  leopards  of  Mortain.  Con- 
spicuous upon  his  white  charger  he  beheld  Duke  Beltane, 
a  proud  and  warlike  figure,  who  sat  his  stamping  war-horse 
deep  in  converse  with  Sir  Jocelyn,  while  behind  were  the 
dense  ranks  of  Mortain.  Suddenly,  Sir  Jocelyn  wheeled 
his  charger  and  galloped  along  Mortain's  front,  his  rich 
armour  glittering,  until  he  halted  at  the  head  of  that 
knightly  company  posted  upon  the  left. 

Meantime,  Black  Ivo's  archers  advancing,  fell  into  ar- 
row formation  and  began  to  ply  the  Mortain  ranks  with 
clouds  of  shafts  and  bolts  'neath  which  divers  men  and 
horses  fell  —  what  time  Black  Ivo's  massed  columns  moved 
slowly  forward  to  the  attack  —  yet  Duke  Beltane,  sitting 
among  his  knights,  stirred  not,  and  the  army  of  Mortain 
abode  very  silent  and  still.  But  of  a  sudden  Duke  Bel^ 
tane  wheeled  his  horse,  his  sword  flashed  on  high,  whereat 
trumpets  brayed  and  on  the  instant  Sir  Jocelyn  wheeled 
off^  to  the  left,  he  and  all  his  company,  and  gathering 
speed  began  to  skirt  Duke  Ivo's  advanced  pikemen  and 
archers,  and  so  rode  down  upon  those  men  of  Pentavalon 
who  were  drawn  up  against  Belsaye.  Hereupon  Black 
Ivo  would  have  launched  a  counter-charge  to  check  Sir 
Jocelyn's  attack,  but  his  advanced  lines  of  cross-bowmen 
and  archers  hampered  him.  Once  again  Duke  Beltane's 
sword  flashed  up,  the  first  line  of  Mortain's  great  array 


54^ 


Beltane  the  Smith 


leapt  forward  and  with  levelled  lances  thundered  down 
upon  Black  Ivo's  ranks,  scattering  and  trampling  down 
his  archers ;  but  as  they  checked  before  the  serried  pikes 
behind,  forth  galloped  Duke  Beltane's  second  line  and  after 
this  a  third  —  o'erwhelming  Ivo's  pikemen  by  their  num- 
bers, and  bursting  over  and  through  their  torn  ranks,  re- 
formed, and,  spurring  hard,  met  Ivo's  rank  with  crashing 
shock  in  full  career.  And,  behind  this  raging  battle,  Duke 
Beltane  rode  at  the  head  of  his  reserves,  keen-eyed  and 
watchful,  what  time  Sir  Jocelyn  was  hotly  engaged  upon 
the  left,  nigh  unto  the  town  itself. 

"  Ah,  Beltane !  "  sighed  the  Duchess,  shivering  and  cov- 
ering her  face  — "  'tis  horrible,  horrible  —  see  how  they 
fall ! " 

"  Nay,  my  brave  Fidells,  heed  rather  how  valiant  Sir 
Jocelyn  and  his  knights  drive  in  their  advanced  lines  — 
ha !  Benedict,  see  how  he  breaks  their  array  —  an  he  can 
but  turn  their  flank  — " 

"  Nay,  Beltane  —  yonder  cometh  the  Raven  banner 
where  Pertolepe  spurreth  in  support  — " 

"  Aye,  but  yonder  doth  my  father  launch  yet  another 
charge  —  ha !  Benedict,  let  us  out  and  aid  them  —  the  way 
lieth  open  beyond  the  drawbridge  an  we  can  but  turn 
Ivo's  flank !  "  quoth  Beltane  looking  ever  upon  the  battle, 
*'  O,  methlnks  the  time  is  now,  Benedict ! " 

With  Helen's  soft  hand  a-tremble  In  his.  Beltane  hasted 
down  from  the  tower  and  Sir  Benedict  followed,  until  they 
were  come  to  the  square  where,  amid  the  joyful  acclaim 
of  the  populace,  their  small  and  hardy  following  were 
drawn  up ;  and,  as  they  came,  from  townsfolk  and  soldiery 
a  shoujt  arose: 

"  Beltane  —  the  Duke  —  the  Duke ! '» 

"  My  lord  Duke  of  Mortain,"  quoth  Sir  Benedict,  "  I 
and  thy  company  do  wait  thee  to  lead  us." 

But  Beltane  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  so,  my  lord  of  Bourne,  thou  art  so  cunning  in 
war  and  hast  led  us  so  valiantly  and  well  —  shalt  lead  us 
to  this  battle,  the  which  I  pray  God  shall  be  our  last !      As 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      547 

for  me,  this  day  will  I  march  with  the  foresters  —  so 
mount,  my  lord." 

Hereupon,  from  foresters,  from  knights  and  men-at- 
arms  another  shout  arose  what  time  Sir  Benedict,  having 
knelt  to  kiss  the  Duchess  Helen's  white  hand,  found  it  woe- 
fully a-tremble. 

"  Alas,  my  lady  Helen,"  said  he,  "  methinks  thine  is  the 
harder  part  this  day.  God  strengthen  thy  wifely  heart, 
for  God,  methinks,  shall  yet  bring  him  to  thine  embrace!  '* 
So  saying,  Sir  Benedict  mounted  and  rode  to  the  head  of 
his  lances,  where  flew  his  banner.  "  Unbar  the  gates !  " 
he  cried.  And  presently  the  great  gates  of  Belsaye  town 
swung  wide,  the  portcullis  clanked  up,  the  drawbridge  fell, 
and  thus  afar  off  they  beheld  where,  'mid  swirling  dust- 
cloud  the  battle  raged  fierce  and  fell. 

And  behold  a  sorry  wight  who  hobbled  toward  them  on 
a  crutch,  so  begirt  and  bandaged  that  little  was  to  see  of 
him  but  bright  eyes. 

"O  Sir  Hacon!"  cried  the  Duchess,  "did  I  not  bid 
thee  to  thy  bed.?  " 

"  Why  truly,  dear  my  lady,  but  since  I  may  not  go 
forth  myself,  fain  would  I  see  my  good  comrades  ride  into 
the  battle  —  faith,  methinks  I  might  yet  couch  a  lance 
but  for  fear  of  this  thy  noble  lady,  my  lord  Beltane  — 
aye  me,  this  shall  be  a  dismal  day  for  me,  methinks !  " 

"  Nay,  then  I  will  keep  thee  company,  good  Sir  Ha- 
con ! "  smiled  the  Duchess  a  little  tremulously,  "  shalt 
watch  with  me  from  the  bartizan  and  tell  me  how  the  day 
goeth  with  us." 

And  now  Sir  Benedict  lifted  aloft  his  lance,  the  trumpet 
sounded,  and  with  ring  and  tramp  he  with  his  six  hundred 
knights  and  men-at-arms  rode  forth  of  the  market-square, 
clattering  through  the  narrow  street,  thundering  over  the 
drawbridge,  and,  forming  in  the  open,  spurred  away  into 
the  battle. 

Then  Beltane  sighed,  and  kneeling,  kissed  his  lady's 
white  hands : 

"  Beloved,"  spake  he  low-voiced,  "  e'en  now  must  I  go 


548 


Beltane  the  Smith 


from    thee,    but    howsoever    fortune    tend  —  thine    am    I 
through  Hfe  —  aje,  and  beyond." 

"  Beltane,"  she  whispered  'twixt  quivering  hps,  "  O 
loved  Beltane,  take  heed  to  thy  dear  body,  cover  thee  well 
with  thy  shield  since  thy  hurts  are  my  hurts  henceforth 
and  with  thee  thou  dost  bear  my  heart  —  O  risk  not  my 
heart  to  death  without  good  cause !  "  So  she  bent  and 
kissed  him  on  the  brow:  but  when  he  would  have  risen, 
stayed  him.  "  Wait,  my  lord !  "  she  whispered  and  turn- 
ing, beckoned  to  one  behind  her,  and  lo !  Genevra  came  for- 
ward bearing  a  blue  banner. 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  Duchess,  "  behold  here  thy  banner 
that  we  have  wrought  for  thee,  Genevra  and  I." 

So  saying,  she  took  the  banner  and  gave  it  into  Bel- 
tane's mailed  hand.  But  as  he  arose,  and  while  pale- 
cheeked  Genevra,  hands  clasped  upon  the  green  scarf  at 
her  bosom,  looked  wet-eyed  where  the  archers  stood  ranked, 
forth  stepped  Giles  and  spake  quick  and  eager. 

"  Lord !  "  said  he,  "  to-day  methinks  will  be  more  hard 
smiting  than  chance  for  good  archery,  wherefore  I  do  pray 
let  me  bear  thy  standard  in  the  fight  —  ne'er  shall  foeman 
touch  it  whiles  that  I  do  live  —  lord,  I  pray  thee !  " 

"  Be  it  so,  Giles ! "  So  Giles  took  the  banner  whiles 
Beltane  fitted  on  his  great,  plumed  helm ;  thereafter  comes 
Roger  with  his  shield  and  Ulf  leading  his  charger  whereon 
he  mounted  forthwith,  and  wheeling,  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  his  pikemen  and  archers,  with  Roger  and  Ulf 
mounted  on  either  flank  and  Giles  bestriding  another  horse 
behind. 

Yet  now  needs  must  he  turn  to  look  his  last  upon  the 
Duchess  standing  forlorn,  and  beholding  the  tender  pas- 
sion of  her  tearless  eyes  he  yearned  mightily  to  kiss  them, 
and  sighed  full  deep,  then,  giving  the  word,  rode  out  and 
away,  the  blue  standard  a-dance  upon  the  breeze ;  but  his 
heart  sank  to  hear  the  clash  and  clang  of  gate  and  port- 
cullis, shutting  away  from  him  her  that  was  more  to  him 
than  life  itself. 

Now  when  they  had  gone  some  way  needs  must  he  look 


Friar  Martin's  Dying  Prophecy      549 

back  at  Belsaye,  its  battered  walls,  its  mighty  towers ;  and 
high  upon  the  bartizan  he  beheld  two  figures,  the  one  be- 
swathed  in  many  bandages,  and  one  he  knew  who  prayed 
for  him,  even  then;  and  all  at  once  wall  and  towers  and 
distant  figures  swam  in  a  mist  of  tears  wherefore  he  closed 
his  bascinet,  yet  not  before  Giles  had  seen  —  Giles,  whose 
merry  face  was  grim  now  and  hard-set,  and  from  whose 
bright  bascinet  a  green  veil  floated. 

"  Lord,"  said  he,  blinking  bright  eyes,  "  we  have  fought 
well  ere  now,  but  to-day  methinks  we  shall  fight  as  ne'er 
we  fought  in  all  our  days." 

"  A3'e,"  nodded  Beltane,  "  verily,  Giles,  methinks  we 
shall!" 

Thus  saying,  he  turned  and  looked  upon  the  rolling  bat- 
tle-dust and  settling  his  feet  within  the  stirrups,  clenched 
iron  fingers  upon  his  long  sword. 


CHAPTER  LXIX 

HOW    AT    LAST    THEY    CAME    TO    PENTAVALON    CITY 

All,  day  long  the  din  and  thunder  of  battle  had  roared 
upon  the  plain ;  all  day  the  Duchess  Helen  with  Sir  Hacon 
at  her  side  had  watched  the  eddying  dust-clouds  rolling 
now  this  way,  now  that,  straining  anxious  eyes  to  catch 
the  gleam  of  a  white  plume  or  the  flutter  of  the  blue  banner 
amid  that  dark  confusion.  And  oft  she  heard  Sir  Hacon 
mutter  oaths  half-stifled,  and  oft  Sir  Hacon  had  heard 
snatches  of  her  breathless  prayers  as  the  tide  of  battle 
swung  to  and  fro,  a  desperate  fray  whence  distant  shouts 
and  cries  mingled  in  awful  din.  But  now,  as  the  sun  grew 
low,  the  close-locked  fray  began  to  roll  southwards  fast  and 
ever  faster,  a  mighty  storm  of  eddying  dust  wherein  armour 
gleamed  and  steel  glimmered  back  and  forth,  as  Duke  Ivo 
and  his  proud  array  fell  back  and  back  on  their  last  strong- 
hold of  Pentavalon  City.  Whereupon  Sir  Hacon,  upon 
the  bartizan,  cursed  no  more,  but  forgetful  of  his  many 
wounds,  waxed  jubilant  instead. 

"  Now,  by  Holy  Rood !  "  he  cried,  "  see,  lady  —  they 
break  —  they  break !  'Twas  that  last  flanking  onset ! 
None  but  Beltane  the  Strong  could  have  marshalled  that 
last  charge  —  drawing  on  Black  Ivo  to  attempt  his  centre, 
see  you,  and  crushing  in  his  flanks  —  so  needs  must  their 
main  battle  fall  back  or  meet  attack  on  two  sides !  Oho, 
a  wondrous  crafty  leader  is  Duke  Beltane  the  Strong! 
See  —  ha,  see  now  how  fast  he  driveth  them  —  and  south- 
ward —  southward  on  Pentavalon  town !  " 

"  So  do  I  thank  God,  but  see  how  many  —  O  how  many 
do  lie  fallen  by  the  way  !  " 

"  Why,  in  battle,  most  gentle  lady,  in  battle  men  must 


How  They  Came  to  the  City      551 

needs  fall  or  wherefore  should  battles  be?  Much  have  I 
seen  of  wars,  lady,  but  ne'er  saw  eyes  sterner  fray  than 
this  — " 

"  And  I  pray  God,"  spake  the  Duchess,  shivering, 
"  these  eyes  may  ne'er  look  upon  another !  O  'tis  hateful 
sight  —  see  —  look  yonder !  "  and  she  pointed  where  from 
the  awful  battle-wrack  reeled  men  faint  with  wounds  while 
others  dragged  themselves  painfully  across  the  trampled 
ground. 

"  Why,  'twas  a  bloody  business ! "  quoth  the  knight, 
shaking  his  bandaged  head. 

"  Sir  Hacon,"  said  the  Duchess,  frowning  and  pale,  "  I 
pray  you  summon  me  the  Reeve,  yonder."  And  when  the 
Reeve  was  come,  she  spake  him  very  soft  and  sweet : 

"  Messire,  I  pray  you  let  us  out  and  aid  the  poor, 
stricken  souls  yonder." 

"  But  lady,  the  battle  is  not  yet  won  —  to  open  our 
gates  were  unwise,  methinks." 

"  Good  Reeve,  one  died  but  lately  whom  all  men  loved, 
but  dying.  Friar  Martin  spake  these  words  — '  I  see  Bel- 
saye  rich  and  happy,  her  gates  ever  open  to  the  woeful 
and  distressed.'  Come,  ope  the  gates  and  let  us  out  to 
cherish  these  afflicted." 

Thus  presently  forth  from  Belsaye  rode  the  Duchess 
Helen,  with  Sir  Hacon  beside  her  and  many  of  the  towns- 
folk, hasting  pale-cheeked  and  trembling  to  minister  unto 
the  hurt  and  dying,  and  many  there  were  that  day  who 
sighed  out  their  lives  in  blessings  on  her  head. 

But  meantime  the  battle  roared,  fierce  and  furious  as 
ever,  where  Black  Ivo's  stubborn  ranks,  beset  now  on  three 
sides,  gave  back  sullenly,  fighting  step  by  step. 

And  amid  the  blood  and  dust,  in  the  forefront  of  that 
raging  tumult,  a  torn  and  tattered  blue  banner  rocked  and 
swayed,  where  Beltane  with  Giles  at  his  right  hand  led  on 
his  grim  foresters,  their  ranks  woefully  thinned  and  with 
never  a  horse  among  them.  But  Roger  was  there,  his  face 
besmeared  with  blood  that  oozed  'neath  his  dinted  bascinet, 
and  Ulf  was  there,  foul  with  slaughter,  and  there  was 


552  Beltane  the  Smith 

Walkjn  fierce  and  grim,  while  side  by  side  amid  the 
trampling  pikemen  behind,  Jenk3Ti  and  Tall  Orson  fought. 
And  presently  to  Beltane  came  Walkyn,  pointing  eagerly 
to  their  left. 

"  Master,"  he  cried,  "  yonder  flaunteth  Pertolepe's  ban- 
ner, beseech  thee  let  us  make  thitherward  — " 

"  Not  so,"  quoth  Beltane,  stooping  'neath  the  swing  of 
a  gisarm,  "  O  forget  thy  selfish  vengeance,  man,  and  smite 
but  for  Pentavalon  this  day  —  her  foes  be  many  enow, 
God  wot !  Ho !  "  he  roared,  "  they  yield !  they  yield ! 
Close  up  pikes  —  in,  in  —  follow  me !  "  Forward  leapt 
he  with  Roger  beside  him  and  the  blue  banner  close  behind, 
and  forward  leapt  those  hardy  foresters  where  the  enemy's 
I'eeling  line  strove  desperately  to  stand  and  re-form.  So 
waxed  the  fight  closer,  fiercer;  griping  hands  fumbled  at 
mailed  throats  and  men,  locked  in  desperate  grapple,  fell 
and  were  lost  'neath  the  press ;  but  forward  went  the  tat- 
tered banner,  on  and  on  until,  checking,  it  reeled  dizzily, 
dipped,  swayed  and  vanished;  but  Roger  had  seen  and 
sprang  in  with  darting  point. 

"  Up,  man,"  he  panted,  covering  the  prostrate  archer 
with  his  shield,  "  up,  Giles,  an  ye  can  —  we're  close 
beset  — " 

"  But  we  be  here,  look'ee  Roger  —  'tis  we,  look'ee ! " 
cried  a  voice  behind. 

"  Aye,  it  do  be  us !  "  roared  another  voice,  and  Roger's 
assailants  were  borne  back  by  a  line  of  vicious-thrusting 
pikes. 

"Art  hurt,  Giles.?" 

"  Nay,"  quoth  the  archer,  getting  to  unsteady  legs, 
"  but  they've  spoiled  me  Genevra's  veil,  methinks  —  and 
our  flag  is  something  smirched,  but,  as  for  me,  I'll  sing  ye 
many  a  song  yet !  " 

"  Then  here's  twice  I've  saved  thee,  Giles,  so  art  two 
accursed  notches  from  my  — " 

A  mace  beat  Roger  to  his  knees,  but,  ere  his  assailant 
could  strike  again,  Giles's  broadsword  rose  and  fell. 

*'  So  are  we  quits,  good  Roger ! "  he  cried,     "  Ha,  see 


How  They  Came  to  the  City      553 

—  they  break !     On,  pikes,  on !     Bows  and  bills,  sa-ha  !  " 

Up  rose  the  dust,  forward  swept  the  battle  as  Black 
Ivo's  hosts  gave  back  before  the  might  of  Mortain;  for- 
ward the  blue  banner  reeled  and  staggered  where  fought 
Beltane  fierce  and  untiring,  his  long  shield  hacked  and 
dinted,  his  white  plumes  shorn  away,  while  ever  his  hardy 
foresters  smote  and  thrust  on  flank  and  rear.  Twice 
Black  Roger  fell  and  twice  Giles  leapt  'twixt  him  and 
death,  and  perceiving  his  haggard  eyes  and  the  pallor  of 
his  grimed  and  bloody  cheek,  roared  at  him  in  fierce  anx- 
iety : 

"  Fall  out,  Roger,  fall  out  and  rest  ye,  man !  " 

*'  Not  whiles  I  can  stand,  archer !  " 

«  Art  a  fool,  Roger." 

"  Belike  I  am,  Giles  — " 

"  And  therefore  do  I  love  thee,  Rogerkin  !  Ha,  bear  up 
man,  yonder  is  water  —  a  muddy  brook  — " 

"  O  blessed  Saint  Cuthbert !  "  panted  Roger. 

Now  before  them  was  a  water-brook  and  beyond  this 
brook  Black  Ivo's  harassed  columns  made  a  fierce  and  des- 
perate rally  what  time  they  strove  to  re-form  their  hard- 
pressed  ranks ;  but  from  Duke  Beltane's  midmost  battle 
the  trumpets  brayed  fierce  and  loud,  whereat  from  a  thou- 
sand parched  throats  a  hoarse  cry  rose,  and  chivalry  and 
foot,  the  men  of  Mortain  charged  with  levelled  lance,  with 
goring  pike,  with  whirling  axe  and  sword,  and  over  and 
through  and  beyond  the  brook  the  battle  raged,  sweeping 
ever  southwards. 

Presently  before  them  the  ground  sloped  sharply  down, 
and  while  Beltane  shouted  warning  to  those  behind,  his 
voice  was  drowned  in  sudden  trumpet-blast,  and  glancing 
to  his  left,  he  beheld  at  last  all  those  knights  and  men-at- 
arms  who  had  ridden  with  his  father  in  their  reserve  all 
day  —  a  glittering  column,  rank  on  rank,  at  whose  head, 
his  sable  armour  agleam,  his  great,  white  charger  leaping 
'neath  the  spur,  Duke  Beltane  rode.  Swift  and  sure  the 
column  wheeled  and  with  lances  couched  thundered  down 
upon  Black  Ivo's  reeling  flank. 


554  Beltane  the  Smith 

A  crash,  a  sudden  roaring  clamour,  and  where  had 
marched  Black  Ivo's  reserve  of  archers  and  pikemen  was 
nought  but  a  scattered  rout.  But  on  rode  Duke  Beltane, 
his  Hon  banner  a-flutter,  in  and  through  the  enemy's  stag- 
gering columns,  and  ever  as  he  charged  thus  upon  their 
left,  so  charged  Sir  Jocelyn  upon  their  right.  Then  Bel- 
tane leaned  him  on  his  sword,  and  looking  down  upon  the 
battle,  bowed  his  head. 

"  Now  praise  be  to  God  and  his  holy  saints !  "  quoth 
he,  "  yonder  is  victory  at  last !  " 

"  Aye,  master,"  said  Roger  hoarsely,  "  and  yonder  as 
the  dust  clears  you  shall  see  the  walls  and  towers  of  Pen- 
tavalon  City !  " 

"  And  lord  —  lord,"  cried  Walkyn,  "  yonder  —  in  their 
rear  —  you  shall  see  Red  Pertolepe's  accursed  Ra.ven  ban- 
ner! Why  tarry  we  here,  lord?  See,  their  ranks  break 
everywhere  —  'twill  be  hot-foot  now  for  the  city  gates  — 
ha,  let  us  on,  master ! " 

"  Aye,  verily,"  quoth  Beltane,  looking  westward,  "  it 
groweth  to  sunset  and  the  city  is  yet  to  storm.  To  your 
ranks,  there  —  forward !  " 

Now  as  they  advanced.  Beltane  beheld  at  last  where, 
high  above  embattled  walls  and  towers,  rose  Pentavalon's 
mighty  keep  wherein  he  had  been  born;  and,  remembering 
his  proud  and  gentle  mother,  he  drooped  his  head  and 
grieved ;  and  bethinking  him  of  his  proud  and  gentle  Helen, 
he  took  fresh  grip  upon  his  sword,  and  lengthening  his 
stride,  looked  where  Black  Ivo's  broken  columns,  weary 
with  battle,  grim  with  blood  and  wounds,  already  began 
to  ride  'neath  the  city's  frowning  gateway,  while  hard 
upon  their  straggling  rearguard  Duke  Beltane's  lion  ban- 
ner fluttered.  A  desperate  hewing  and  thrusting  in  the 
narrow  gateway,  and  Black  Ivo's  shattered  following  were 
driven  in  and  the  narrow  streets  and  alleys  of  the  town 
full  of  battle  and  slaughter.  Street  by  street  the  town 
was  won  until  before  them  loomed  the  mighty  keep  of 
Pentavalon's  ducal  stronghold.  Outer  and  inner  bailey 
were  stormed  and  so  at  last  came  they,  a  desperate,  close- 


How  They  Came  to  the  City      555 

fighting  company,  into  the  great  tilt-yard  before  the  castle. 
Now  of  a  sudden  a  shout  went  up  and  thereafter  was  a 
great  quiet  —  a  silence  wherein  friend  and  foe,  panting 
and  weary,  stood  alike  at  gaze.  And  amid  this  expectant 
hush  the  two  Dukes  of  Pentavalon  fronted  each  other. 
No  word  said  they,  but,  while  all  eyes  watched  them,  each 
took  lance  and  riding  to  the  extremity  of  the  courtyard, 
wheeled,  and  coucliing  their  lances,  spurred  fiercel}^  against 
each  other.  And  now  men  held  their  breath  to  behold 
these  two  great  knights,  who,  crouched  low  in  their  sad- 
dles, met  midway  in  full  career  with  crash  and  splintering 
shock  of  desperate  onset.  Duke  Beltane  reeled  in  his  stir- 
rups, recovered,  and  leaning  forward  stared  down  upon 
his  enemy,  who,  prostrate  on  his  back,  slowly  lifted  gaunt- 
leted  hand  that,  falling  weakly,  clashed  upon  the  stones  — 
a  small  sound,  yet  plain  to  be  heard  by  reason  of  that 
breathless  hush. 

Slow  and  stiffly  Duke  Beltane  dismounted,  and  reeling 
in  his  gait,  came  and  knelt  beside  Black  Ivo  and  loosed  off 
his  riven  helm.  Thereafter,  slow  and  painfully,  he  arose, 
and  looking  round  upon  all  men,  spake  faint-voiced. 

"  God  —  hath  judged  —  betwixt  us  this  day  !  "  said  he, 
"  and  to-day  —  methinks  —  He  doth  summon  me  —  to 
judgment — "  Even  as  he  spake  he  lifted  his  hands, 
struggling  with  the  lacing  of  his  helmet,  staggered,  and 
would  have  fallen,  wherefore  Beltane  sprang  forward.  Yet 
one  there  was  quicker  than  he,  one  whose  goodly  armour, 
smirched  and  battered,  yet  showed  the  blazon  of  Bourne. 

"  Benedict !  "  quoth  Duke  Beltane  feebly,  "  faithful  wert 
thou  to  the  last !     O  Benedict,  where  is  my  noble  son !  " 

"  Father ! "  cried  Beltane,  "  thou  hast  this  day  won 
Pentavalon  from  her  shame  and  misery !  "  But  the  Duke 
lay  very  still  in  their  arms  and  spake  no  word. 

So,  when  they  had  uncovered  his  white  head,  they  bore 
him  tenderly  into  the  great  banqueting  hall  and  laid  him 
on  goodly  couch  and  cherished  him  with  water  and  wine, 
wherefore,  in  a  while,  he  opened  swooning  eyes. 

"  Beltane !  "  he  whispered,  "  dear  and  noble  son  —  thy 


556 


Beltane  the  Smith 


manhood  —  hath  belike  won  thy  father's  soul  to  God's 
mercy.  So  do  I  leave  thee  to  cherish  all  those  that  — 
have  known  wrong  and  woe  —  by  reason  of  my  selfish  life ! 
Dear  son,  bury  me  with  thy  —  noble  mother,  but  let  me 
lie  —  at  her  feet.  Beltane.  O  had  I  been  less  selfish  —  in 
my  sorrow !  But  God  is  merciful !  Benedict  —  kiss  me 
—  and  thou,  my  Beltane  —  God  calleth  me  —  to  rest.  In 
manus  tuas  —  Domine!  "  Then  Duke  Beltane,  that  had 
been  the  Hermit  Ambrose,  clasped  his  mailed  hands  and 
smiling  wondrous  glad  and  tender,  yielded  his  soul  to  God. 

In  a  while  Beltane  came  forth  into  the  courtyard  and 
beheld  Sir  Jocelyn  mustering  their  knightly  prisoners  in 
the  ward  below,  for,  with  Black  Ivo's  death,  all  resistance 
was  ended.  And  now  the  trumpets  blared,  rallying  their 
various  companies,  but  Beltane  abode  very  full  of  sorrow- 
ful thoughts.  To  him  presently  cometh  Giles  yet  grasp- 
ing the  blue  standard  befouled  with  dust  and  blood,  the 
which  he  laid  reverently  at  Beltane's  feet. 

"  Lord,"  said  he,  "  my  trust  is  ended.  See,  yonder 
standeth  our  company  of  foresters !  "  and  he  pointed  where 
a  single  rank  of  grimed  and  weary  men  lay  upon  the  hard 
flag-stones  or  leaned  on  their  battered  weapons. 

"  Giles  —  O  Giles,  is  this  all.?  " 

"  Aye,  lord,  we  muster  but  seventy  and  one  all  told,  and 
of  these  Tall  Orson  lieth  dead  yonder  in  Jenkyn's  arms, 
and  Roger  —  poor  Roger  is  a-dying,  methinks  —  and  Ulf 
and  Walkyn  are  not." 

But  even  as  he  spake  he  turned  and  started,  for,  from 
the  ward  below  a  hunting  horn  brayed  feebly. 

"  'Tis  our  forester's  rally,  master !  "  quoth  he,  "  and 
see  —  Jesu,  what  men  are  these.?"  For  into  the  court- 
yard, followed  by  many  who  gaped  and  stared  in  wonder- 
ment, six  men  staggered,  men  hideously  stained  and  be- 
splashed  from  head  to  foot,  and  foremost  came  two.  And 
Walkyn  was  one  and  Ulf  the  Strong  the  other. 

Now  as  he  came  Walkyn  stared  in  strange,  wild  fashion, 
and  choked  often  in  his  breathing,  and  his  mailed  feet 
dragged    feebly,    insomuch    that    he    would    have    fallen 


How  They  Came  to  the  City      557 

but  for  Ulf's  mighty  arm.  Being  come  where  Beltane 
stood  with  Sir  Benedict  and  many  other  wondering  knights 
and  nobles,  Walkyn  halted  and  strove  to  speak  but  choked 
again  instead.  In  one  hand  bare  he  his  great  axe,  and 
in  the  other  a  torn  and  stained  war-cloak. 

"  Lord,"  quoth  he  in  sobbing  breaths,  "  a  good  day  for 
thee  —  this  —  lord  Duke  —  a  good  day  for  Pentavalon  — ■ 
a  joyous  day  —  blessed  day  for  me —  You'll  mind  they 
slew  mother  and  father  and  sister,  lord  —  brother  and 
wife  and  child?  Empty-hearted  was  I  and  desolate  there- 
fore, but  —  to-day,  ha,  to-day  I  die  also,  methinks.  So, 
an  ye  will,  lord  Duke  —  keep  thou  mine  axe  in  memory  — 
of  Walkyn  —  'tis  a  goodly  axe  —  hath  served  me  well  to- 
day —  behold ! " 

Now  as  he  spake  he  loosed  a  corner  of  the  war-cloak, 
and  from  its  grimed  and  ghastly  folds  there  rolled  forth 
into  the  red  light  of  the  cleanly  sun  a  thing  that  trundled 
softly  across  the  pavement  and  stopping,  shewed  a  pallid 
face  crowned  with  red  hair,  'neath  which  upon  the  brow, 
betwixt  the  staring  eyes,  was  a  jagged  scar  like  to  a 
cross. 

Now  while  all  men  stared  upon  this  direful  thing,  hold- 
ing their  breaths,  Walkyn  laughed  loud  and  high,  and 
breaking  from  Ulf's  clasp,  staggered  to  where  it  lay  and 
pointed  thereto  with  shaking  finger. 

"  Behold !  "  he  cried,  "  behold  the  head  of  Bloody  Perto- 
lepe !  "  Therewith  he  laughed,  and  strove  to  kick  it  with 
feeble  foot  —  but  staggered  instead,  and,  loosing  his  axe, 
stretched  wide  his  long  arms  and  fell,  face  downward. 

"  Bloody  Pertolepe  —  is  dead !  "  he  cried,  and  choked ; 
and  choking  —  died. 


CHAPTER  LXX 

WHICH    SPEAKETH    FOR    ITSELF 

It  was  not  the  piping  of  throstle  or  sweet-throated  merle 
that  had  waked  my  Beltane,  who  with  slumberous  eyes 
stared  up  at  carven  canopy,  round  him  upon  rich  arras, 
and  down  upon  embroidered  bed-covering  and  silken  pil- 
low, while  through  the  narrow  lattice  the  young  sun  played 
upon  gilded  roof-beam  and  polished  floor.  So  lay  Bel- 
tane, blinking  sleepy  eyes  and  hearkening  to  a  soft  and  me- 
lodious whistling  from  the  little  garden  below  his  casement. 
Being  thus  heavy  with  sleep,  he  wondered  drowsily  what 
great  content  was  this  that  filled  him,  and  wherefore? 
Wondering  yet,  he  sighed,  and  because  of  the  sun's  ra- 
diance, closed  slumberous  eyes  again  and  would  have  slept ; 
but,  of  a  sudden  the  whistling  ceased,  and  a  rich,  sweet 
voice  fell  to  gentle  singing. 

"Hark!  in  the  whisper  of  the  wind 

Love  calleth  thee  away, 

Each    leaf   a   small,    soft   voice   doth    find. 

Each  pretty  bird  doth  cry  in  kind, 

O  heart,  haste  north  to-day." 

Beltane  sat  up  broad  awake,  for  Blaen  lay  to  the  north, 
and  in  Blaen  —     But  Giles  was  singing  on : 

"  Youth  is  quick  to  speed  away. 
But  love  abideth  ever. 
Fortune,  though  she  smile  to-day, 
Fickle  is  and  will  not  stay, 
But  true-love  cliangeth  never. 

"  The  world  doth  change,  as  change  it  must. 
But  true-love  cbangeth  never. 
Proud  ambition  is  but  dust. 


which  Speaketh  for  Itself      559 

The  bow  doth  break,  the  sword  doth  rust, 
But  love  abideth  ever." 

Beltane  was  leaning  half  out  of  the  casement,  of  the 
which  fact  who  so  unconscious  as  Giles,  busily  furbishing 
armour  and  bascinet. 

"  Giles !  "  he  cried,  "  O  Giles  —  rouse  ye,  man !  " 

"  How,  lord  —  art  awake  so  early  ?  "  questioned  Giles, 
looking  up  innocent  of  eye. 

"  Was  it  not  for  this  thou  didst  sing,  rogue  Giles  ?  Go 
now,  bid  Roger  have  three  horses  saddled,  for  within  the 
hour  we  ride  hence." 

"  To  Mortain,  lord?  "  questioned  Giles  eagerly. 

"  Aye,  Giles,  to  Mortain  —  north  to  Blaen ;  where  else 
should  we  ride  to-day  ?  " 

So  saying,  Beltane  turned  back  into  his  sumptuous 
chamber  and  fell  to  donning,  not  his  habiliments  of  state, 
but  those  well-worn  garments,  all  frayed  by  his  heavy 
mail.  Swift  dressed  he  and  almost  stealthily,  oft  pausing 
to  glance  into  the  empty  garden  below,  and  oft  staying 
to  listen  to  some  sound  within  the  massy  building.  And 
thus  it  was  he  started  to  hear  a  soft  knocking  at  the  door, 
and  turning,  beheld  Sir  Benedict. 

"  Forsooth,  art  up  betimes,  my  lord  Duke,"  quoth  he, 
bright  eyes  a-twinkle,  "  and  verily  I  do  commend  this  so 
great  zeal  in  thee  since  there  be  many  and  divers  matters 
do  need  thy  ducal  attention  —  matters  of  state  and  mo- 
ment — " 

"  Matters  of  state?  "  saith  Beltane,  something  troubled. 

"  There  be  many  noble  and  illustrious  lords  come  in  to 
pay  thee  homage  and  swear  to  thee  divers  fealty  oaths  — " 

"  Then  must  they  wait,  Benedict." 

*'  Wait,  my  lord  —  men  so  illustrious !  Then  this  day 
a  deputation  waitcth  on  thee,  merchants  and  what  not  — " 

"  These  must  wait  also,  Benedict  — "  saith  Beltane,  his 
trouble  growing. 

"  Moreover  there  is  high  festival  at  the  minster  with 
much  chanting  and  glorification  in  thy  behalf  —  and  'tis 
intended   to  make   for  thee   a   triumphal  pageant  —  fair 


560 


Beltane  the  Smith 


maidens  to  strow  flowers  beneath  thy  horse's  feet,  musi- 
cians to  pleasure  thee  with  pipe  and  tabor  —  and  — " 

"  Enough,  enough,  Benedict.  Prithee  why  must  I  needs 
endure  this  ?  " 

"  Such  things  do  wait  upon  success,  Beltane,  and  more- 
over thou'rt  Duke!  Aye,  verily  thou'rt  Duke!  The 
which  mindeth  me  that,  being  Duke,  it  behoveth  thee  — " 

"  And  yet,  Benedict,  I  do  tell  thee  that  all  things  must 
wait  awhile,  methinks,  or  better  —  do  you  attend  them 
for  me — " 

"  Nay  —  I  am  no  Duke !  "  quoth  Sir  Benedict  hastily. 

"  Yet  thou  art  my  chiefest  counsellor  and  lord  Seneschal 
of  Pentavalon.  So  to  thy  wise  judgment  I  do  entrust  all 
matters  soever- — " 

"  But  I  have  no  warranty,  thou  cunning  boy,  and  — " 

"  Shalt  have  my  bond,  my  ducal  ring,  nay,  the  very 
crown  itself,  howbeit  this  day  — " 

"Wilt  ride  for  Mortain,  O  lover?"  said  Sir  Benedict, 
smiling  his  wry  smile. 

"  Aye,  verily,  dear  Benedict,  nor  shall  aught  under 
heaven  let  or  stay  me  —  yet  how  knew  ye  this,  Benedict?  '* 

"  For  that  'tis  so  my  heart  would  have  prompted  had  I 
been  so  blessed  as  thou  art,  dear  my  Beltane.  And  know- 
ing thou  needs  must  to  thy  beauteous  Helen,  I  have  a  meal 
prepared  within  my  chamber,  cfbme  your  ways  and  let  us 
eat  together." 

So  came  they  to  a  handsome  chamber  hard  by  where 
was  spread  a  goodly  repast  whereto  they  did  full  justice, 
though  talking  much  the  while,  until  one  tapped  lightly 
upon  the  door,  and  Roger  entered  bearing  Beltane's  new- 
burnished  mail. 

"  Nay,  good  Roger,"  said  Beltane,  smiling,  "  need  for 
that  is  done  methinks ;  we  ride  light  to-day !  "  But  Sir 
Benedict  shook  wise  head. 

"  My  lord  'tis  true  our  wars  be  ended  I  thank  God, 
and  we  may  sheathe  our  swords  at  last,  but  the  woods  be 
full  of  Black  Ivo's  scattered  soldiery,  with  outlaws  and 
other  masterless  men." 


which  Speaketh  for  Itself     561 

"  Ha,  verih',  lords,"  quoth  Roger,  "  there  shall  many 
turn  outlaw,  methinks  — " 

"  Then  must  we  end  outlawry !  "  said  Beltane,  frowning. 

*'  And  how  would'st  do  it,  Beltane?  " 

"  Make  an  end  of  the  game  laws,  Benedict  —  throw 
wide  the  forests  to  all  who  will  — " 

"  But  master,  thus  shall  every  clapper-claw  rogue  be 
free  to  kill  for  his  base  sport  thy  goodly  deer,  or  belike  a 
hart  of  ten,  fit  for  sport  of  kings  — " 

"  Well,  let  them  in  this  thing  be  kings.  But  I  do  hold 
a  man's  life  dearer  than  a  stag's.  So  henceforth  in 
Pentavalon  the  woods  are  free  —  I  pray  you  let  this  be 
proclaimed  forthwith,  my  lord." 

Quoth  Sir  Benedict,  as  with  Roger's  aid  Beltane  did  on 
his  armour: 

"  There  is  a  postern  beyond  the  pleasaunce  yonder  shall 
bring  you  forth  of  the  city  and  no  man  the  wiser." 

"  Why,  then,  bring  ye  the  horses  thither,  Roger,  and 
haste  ye !  " 

Now  when  Roger  was  gone,  Sir  Benedict  arose  and  set- 
ting his  hands  on  Beltane's  shoulders  questioned  him  full 
serious : 

"  Mean  ye  forsooth  to  make  the  forests  free.  Beltane?  " 

"  Aye,  verily,  Benedict." 

"  This  shall  cause  much  discontent  among  the  lords  — " 

"  Well,  we  wear  swords,  Benedict !  But  this  I  swear, 
whiles  I  am  Duke,  never  again  shall  a  man  hang  for  killing 
of  m.3^  deer.  Moreover,  'tis  m}"  intent  forthwith  to  lower 
all  taxes,  more  especially  in  the  market  towns,  to  extend 
their  charters  and  grant  them  new  privileges." 

"  Beltane,  I  fear  thy  years  shall  be  full  of  discord." 

"What  matter,  an  my  people  prosper?  But  thou  art 
older  and  much  wiser  than  I,  Benedict,  bethink  thee  of 
these  things  then,  I  pray,  and  judge  how  best  such  changes 
may  be  'stablished,  for  a  week  hence,  God  willing,  I  sum- 
mon my  first  council.  But  now,  dear  Benedict,  I  go  to 
find  my  happiness." 

"  Farewell,  my  lord  —  God  speed  thee,  my  Beltane !     O 


562 


Beltane  the  Smith 


lad,  lad,  the  heart  of  Benedict  goeth  with  thee,  methinks !  " 
and  Sir  Benedict  turned  suddenly  away.  Then  Beltane 
took  and  clasped  those  strong  and  able  hands. 

"  Benedict,"  said  he,  "  truer  friend  man  never  had  than 
thou,  and  for  this  I  do  love  thee  —  and  thou  art  wise  and 
valiant  and  great-hearted,  and  thou  didst  love  my  noble 
mother  with  a  noble  love,  and  for  this  do  I  love  thee  best 
of  all,  dear  friend." 

Then  Benedict  lifted  his  head,  and  like  father  and  son 
they  kissed  each  other,  and  together  went  forth  into  the 
sweet,  cool-breathing  morn. 

Beyond  the  postern  were  Giles  and  Black  Roger  with 
the  horses,  and  Giles  sang  blithe  beneath  his  breath,  but 
Roger  sighed  oft  and  deep. 

Now  being  mounted,  Beltane  reined  close  beside  Sir 
Benedict  and  smiled  full  joyous  and  spake  him  thus,  low- 
voiced: 

"  Dear  Benedict,  to-day  one  that  loveth  thee  doth  ride 
away,  but  in  a  week  two  that  love  thee  shall  return.  And 
needs  must  these  two  love  thee  ever  and  always,  very 
greatly,  Benedict,  since  but  for  thee  they  had  not  come  to 
their  joy."  So  saying,  he  touched  spur  to  flank  and 
bounded  away,  with  Giles  and  Roger  spurring  behind. 

Soon  were  they  free  of  the  city  and  reaching  that  roll- 
ing down  where  the  battle  had  raged  so  lately,  Beltane 
set  his  horse  to  a  stretching  gallop,  and  away  they  raced, 
over  upland  and  lowland  until  they  beheld  afar  to  their 
right  the  walls  and  towers  of  Belsaye.  But  on  they  rode 
toward  the  green  of  the  woods,  and  ever  as  they  rode  Giles 
sang  full  blithely  to  himself  whiles  Roger  gloomed  and 
sighed;  wherefore  at  last  the  archer  turned  to  clap  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

*'  What  aileth  thee,  my  Rogerkin  ?  "  quoth  he. 

"  Ha,"  growled  Roger,  "  the  world  waggeth  well  with 
thee,  Giles,  these  days,  but  as  for  me  —  poor  Roger 
lacketh.  Saint  Cuthbert  knoweth  I  have  striven  and  like- 
wise plagued  him  sore  upon  the  matter,  and  yet  my  belt  — 
my  accursed  belt  yet  beareth  a  notch  —  behold !  " 


which  Speaketh  for  Itself     563 

"  Why,  'tis  but  a  single  notch,  Roger." 

"  Yet  a  notch  it  is,  forsooth,  and  how  shall  my  heart 
go  light  and  my  soul  clean  until  I  have  a  belt  with  notches 
not  one?  " 

"  Belike  thou  hast  forgot  some  of  the  lives  thou  didst 
save,  Roger  —  mine  thou  didst  save  four  times  within  the 
battle,  I  mind  me  — " 

"  Nay,  'twas  but  twice,  Giles." 

"  Why,  then  'twas  thrice,  Roger  —  the  banner  hampered 
me  and  — " 

"  'Twas  but  twice,  alack ! "  sighed  Roger,  "  Saint  Cuth- 
bert  knoweth  'twas  but  twice  and  being  a  very  watchful 
saint  may  not  be  cheated,  Giles." 

"  Why  then,  Roger,  do  ye  beset  him  in  prayer,  so,  while 
thou  dost  hold  him  in  play  thus,  I  will  snick  away  thy 
solitary  notch  so  sweetly  he  shall  never  know  — " 

*'  Alack,  'twill  not  avail,  Giles.  I  must  needs  bear  this 
notch  with  me  unto  the  grave,  belike." 

"  Nay,  Roger,  I  will  to  artifice  and  subtle  stratagem 
on  thy  behalf  as  —  mark  me !  I  do  know  a  pool  beside 
the  way !  Now  if  I  slip  within  the  pool  and  thou 
should'st  pull  me  from  the  pool  —  how  then?  Ha — 'tis 
well  bethought,  let's  do't !  " 

"  Were  it  any  but  Saint  Cuthbert ! "  sighed  Roger, 
*'  but  I  do  thank  thee  for  thy  kindly  thought,  Giles." 

Now  after  this  went  they  some  way  in  silence.  Beltane 
riding  ahead  very  full  of  thought,  and  his  companions 
behind,  the  one  smiling  and  debonair,  the  other  frowning 
and  sad. 

"  Forsooth,"  quoth  Giles  at  last,  "  as  thou  sayest, 
Roger,  the  world  waggeth  well  with  me.  Hast  heard, 
belike,  our  lady  Duchess  hath  been  pleased  to  — " 

"  Aye,  I've  heard,  my  lord  Bailiff  —  who  hath  not  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  did  but  mention  it  to  two  or  three,"  quoth 
Giles.  "  Moreover  our  lord  doth  smile  on  me  these  days, 
though  forsooth  he  hath  been  familiar  with  me  since  first 
I  found  him  within  the  green  —  long  ere  he  found  thee, 
Rogerkin !     I  rode  a  white  ass,  I  mind  me,  and  my  lord 


5^4 


Beltane  the  Smith 


walked  beside  me  very  fair  and  soft-spoken,  whereupon  I 
called  him  —  Sir  Dove !  O  me  —  a  dove,  mark  you ! 
Since  when,  as  ye  know,  we  have  been  comrades,  he  and 
I,  nay,  brothers-in-arms,  rather!  Very  close  in  his  coun- 
sels I  —  very  near  to  all  his  thoughts  and  actions.  All  of 
the  which  cometh  of  possessing  a  tongue  as  ready  as  my 
wit,  Rogerkin ! " 

Now  as  he  hearkened,  Roger's  frown  grew  blacker  and 
his  powerful  hand  clenched  upon  the  bridle. 

"  And  yet,"  quoth  Giles,  "  as  I  am  in  my  lord's  dear 
friendship,  so  art  thou  in  mine,  Roger,  man,  nor  in  my 
vaulting  fortunes  will  I  e'er  forget  thee.  Belike  within 
Mortain  shalt  aid  me  in  my  new  duties,  or  shall  I  speak 
my  lord  on  thy  behalf.''  " 

"Ha!"  cried  Roger  suddenly,  "  first  tell  me  this,  my 
lord  Steward  and  high  Bailiff  of  Mortain,  did  the  Duke 
my  master  chance  ever  to  take  thy  hand,  to  wet  it  with 
his  tears  and  —  kiss  it.?" 

"  Art  mad,  Roger !  Wherefore  should  my  lord  do 
this?" 

"Aye,"  nodded  Roger,  "wherefore?" 

And  when  Giles  had  whistled  awhile  and  Roger  had 
scowled  awhile,  the  archer  spake  again: 

"  Hast  never  been  in  love,  Roger?  " 

"  Never,  Saint  Cuthbert  be  praised !  " 

"  Then  canst  know  nought  of  the  joy  and  wonder  of 
it.  So  will  I  make  for  thee  a  song  of  love,  as  thus:  open 
thine  ears  and  hearken : 

"  So  fair,  so  sweet,  so  pure  is  she 
I  do  thank  God; 
Her  love  an  armour  is  to  me 
'Gainst    sorrow    and    adversity, 
So  in  my  song  right  joyfully 
I  do  thank  God  for  love. 

"  Her  love  a  cloak  is,  round  me  cast, 

I  do  thank  God; 

To  cherish  me  'gainst  fortunes  blast. 


which  Speaketh  for  Itself     565 

Her  love,  forgetting  evils  past, 
Shall  lift  me  up  to  heaven  at  last. 
So  I  thank  God  for  love." 

"  Here  is  a  fair  song,  methinks ;  dost  not  wonder  at  love 
now,  Roger,  and  the  glory  of  it?  " 

"  I  wonder,"  quoth  Roger,  "  how  long  thou  shalt  believe 
all  this  when  thou  art  wed.  I  wonder  how  long  thou  wilt 
live  true  to  her  when  she  is  thy  wife !  " 

Now  hereupon  the  archer's  comely  face  grew  red,  grew 
pale,  his  bronzed  hands  flew  to  his  belt  and  leapt  on  high, 
gripping  his  dagger ;  but  Roger  had  seen,  his  fingers  closed 
on  the  descending  wrist  and  they  grappled,  swaying  in 
their  saddles. 

Grim  and  silent  they  slipped  to  earth  and  strove  to- 
gether on  the  hng.  But  Roger  had  Giles  in  a  cruel 
wrestling-hold,  wrenched  him,  bent  him,  and  bearing  him 
to  earth,  wrested  away  the  dagger  and  raised  it  above  the 
archer's  naked  throat.  And  Giles,  lying  powerless  be- 
neath, looked  up  into  Roger's  fierce  scowling  face  and  see- 
ing no  pity  there,  his  pale  cheek  grew  paler  and  in  his 
eyes  came  an  agony  of  broken  hopes ;  but  his  gaze  quailed 
not  and  when  he  spake,  his  voice  was  firm. 

"  Strike  true,  comrade !  "  said  he. 

The  hand  above  him  wavered;  the  dagger  was  dashed 
aside  and  covering  his  face,  Black  Roger  crouched  there, 
his  broad  shoulders  and  powerful  figure  quaking  and 
shivering.  Then  Giles  arose  and  stepping  to  his  dagger, 
came  back  with  it  grasped  in  his  hand. 

"  Roger !  "  said  he. 

Quoth  Roger,  his  face  still  hidden: 

"  My  throat  is  bare  also,  archer !  " 

"  Roger  —  comrade,  give  to  me  thy  belt !  " 

Now  at  this  Roger  looked  up,  wondering. 

"  My  belt.?  "  quoth  he,  "  what  would  ye,  Giles.?  " 

"  Cut  away  thy  last  notch,  Roger  —  thy  belt  shall  go 
smooth-edged  henceforth  and  thy  soul  clean,  methinks." 

"  But  I  meant  to  slay  thee,  Giles." 


see 


Beltane  the  Smith 


"  But  spared  me,  Roger,  spared  me  to  life  and  —  love, 
my  Rogerkin.     O  friend,  give  me  thy  belt !  " 

So  Roger  gave  him  the  belt,  wherefrom  Giles  forthwith 
cut  the  last  notch,  which  done,  they  together,  like  mis- 
chievous lads,  turned  to  look  where  their  lord  rode  far 
ahead ;  and  beholding  him  all  unconscious  and  lost  in 
thought,  they  sighed  their  relief  and  mounting,  went  on 
together. 

Now  did  Roger  oft  glance  at  Giles  who  kept  his  face 
averted  and  held  his  peace,  whereat  Roger  grew  uneasy, 
fidgeted  in  his  saddle,  fumbled  with  the  reins,  and  at  last 
spake : 

"Giles!" 

"Aye,  Roger!" 

"  Forgive  me !  " 

But  Giles  neither  turned  nor  spake,  wherefore  contrite 
Roger  must  needs  set  an  arm  about  him  and  turn  him 
about,  and  behold,  the  archer's  eyes  were  brimming  with 
great  tears ! 

"  O  Giles !  "  gasped  Roger,  "  O  Giles !  " 

"  Roger,  I  —  I  do  love  her,  man  —  I  do  love  her,  heart 
and  soul !  Is  this  so  hard  to  believe,  Roger,  or  dost  think 
me  rogue  so  base  that  true  love  is  beyond  me?  'Tis  true 
I  am  unworthy,  and  yet  —  I  do  verily  love  her,  Roger ! " 

"Wilt  forgive  me  —  can'st  forgive  me,  Giles?" 

"  Aye,  Roger,  for  truly  we  have  saved  each  other's  lives 
so  oft  we  must  needs  be  friends,  thou  and  I.  Only  thy 
words  did  —  did  hurt  me,  friend  —  for  indeed  this  love  of 
mine  hath  in  it  much  of  heaven,  Roger.  And  —  there  be 
times  when  I  do  dream  of  mayhap  —  teaching  —  a  little 
Giles  —  to  loose  a  straight  shaft  —  some  day.  O  sweet 
Jesu,  make  me  worthy,  amen !  " 

And  now  Beltane  glancing  up  and  finding  the  sun  high, 
summoned  Giles  and  Roger  beside  him. 

"Friends,"  said  he,  "we  have  journeyed  farther  than 
methought.  Now  let  us  turn  into  the  boskage  yonder  and 
eat." 

So  in  a  while,  the  horses  tethered,  behold  them  within  a 


which  Speaketh  for  Itself      567 

leafy  bower  eating  and  drinking  and  laughing  like  the 
blithe  foresters  they  were,  until,  their  hunger  assuaged, 
they  made  ready  to  mount.  But  of  a  sudden  the  bushes 
parted  near  by  and  a  man  stepped  forth ;  a  small  man  he, 
plump  and  buxom,  whose  quick,  bright  eyes  twinkled 
'neath  his  wide-eaved  hat  as  he  saluted  Beltane  with 
obeisance  very  humble  and  lowly.     Quoth  he : 

"  Right  noble  and  most  resplendent  lord  Duke  Beltane, 
I  do  most  humbly  greet  thee,  I  —  Lubbo  Fitz-Lubbin,  past 
Pardoner  of  the  Holy  See  —  who  but  a  poor  plain  soul 
am,  do  offer  thee  my  very  insignificant,  yet  most  sincere, 
felicitous  good  wishes," 

"  My  thanks  are  thine,  Pardoner.  What  more  would 
you?" 

"  Breath,  lord  methinks,"  said  Giles,  "  wipd,  my  lord, 
after  periods  so  profound  and  sonorous ! " 

"  Lord  Duke,  right  puissant  and  most  potential,  I 
would  but  tell  thee  this,  to  wit,  that  I  did  keep  faith  with 
thee,  that  I,  by  means  of  this  unworthy  hand,  did  set  thee 
beyond  care,  lift  thee  above  sorrow,  and  gave  to  thee  the 
heaven  of  thy  most  warm  and  earnest  desires." 

"  How  mean  you.  Pardoner?  " 

"  Lord  Duke,  when  thou  didst  bestow  life  on  two  poor 
rogues  upon  a  time,  when  one  rogue  stole  away  minded  to 
betray  thee  to  thine  enemy,  the  second  rogue  did  steal 
upon  the  first  rogue,  and  this  second  rogue  bare  a  small 
knife  whereof  the  first  rogue  suddenly  died.  And  thus 
Duke  Ivo,  thine  enemy,  came  not  before  Belsaye  until  thou 
and  thy  company  were  safe  within  its  walls.  So  by  rea- 
son of  this  poor  second  rogue,  Pentavalon  doth  rejoice  in 
freedom.  To-day  is  singing  on  every  village  green  — 
happiness  is  in  the  very  air,  for  'tis  Pentavalon's  Beltane, 
and  Beltane  is  a  sweet  season ;  so  doth  this  poor  second 
rogue  find  him  recompense.  Verily  art  well  named,  lord 
Beltane,  since  in  thee  Pentavalon's  winter  is  passed  away 
and  spring  is  come  —  O  happy  season  of  Beltane,  O  sea- 
son of  new  beginnings  and  new  hopes !  So,  my  lord  Bel- 
tane, may  it  ever  be  Beltane  with  thee,  may  it  be  sweet 


568  Beltane  the  Smith 

spring  ever  within  thy  noble  heart.     God  keep  thee  and 
farewell." 

So  saying  the  Pardoner  turned  about,  and  plunging 
into  the  dense  green,  was  gone. 

"  A  pestilent  wordy  fellow,  lord,"  quoth  Giles,  "  one  of 
your  windy  talkers  that  talketh  that  no  other  talker  may 
talk  —  now  give  me  a  good  listener,  say  I." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Beltane,  swinging  to  saddle,  "  spake 
he  truly  I  wonder.?  Had  Ivo  been  a  little  sooner  we  had 
not  been  here,  methinks !  " 

On  they  rode,  through  sun  and  shadow,  knee  and  knee, 
beneath  leafy  arches  and  along  green  glades,  talking  and 
laughing  together  or  plunged  in  happy  thought. 

Quoth  Beltane  of  a  sudden: 

"Roger,  hast  heard  how  Giles  waxeth  in  fortune  these 
days.?" 

"  And  methinks  no  man  is  more  worthy,  master.  Giles 
is  for  sure  a  man  of  parts." 

"  Aye  —  more  especially  of  tongue,  Roger." 

"  As  when  he  did  curse  the  folk  of  Belsaye  out  o'  their 
fears,  master.     Moreover  he  is  a  notable  archer  and  — " 

*'  Art  not  envious,  then,  Roger?  " 

"  Not  I,  master !  " 

"  What  would'st  that  I  give  unto  thee.?  " 

"  Thy  love,  master." 

"  'Tis  thine  already,  my  faithful  Roger." 

"  And  therewithal  am  I  content,  master." 

"  Seek  ye  nought  beside?  " 

"  Lord,  what  is  there?  Moreover  I  am  not  learned  like 
Giles,  nor  ready  of  tongue,  nor  — " 

"Art  wondrous  skilled  in  wood-lore,  my  Rogerkin!" 
quoth  Giles.  "  Forsooth,  lord,  there  is  no  man  knoweth 
more  of  forestry  than  my  good  comrade  Roger !  " 

"  So  will  I  make  of  him  my  chiefest  huntsman,  Giles  — " 

"  Master  —  O  master !  "  gasped  Roger. 

"And  set  thee  over  all  my  foresters  of  Pentavalon, 
Roger." 

"  Why  master,  I  —  forsooth  I  do  love  the  greenwood  — 


which  Speaketh  for  Itself     569 

but  lord,  I  am  only  Roger,  and  —  and  how  may  I  thank 
thee—" 

"  Come ! "  cried  Beltane,  and  spurred  to  a  gallop. 

Thus  rode  they  through  the  leafy  by-ways,  avoiding 
town  and  village;  yet  oft  from  afar  they  heard  the  joyous 
throb  of  bells  upon  the  air,  or  the  sound  of  merry  voices 
and  happy  laughter  from  village  commons  where  folk  re- 
joiced together  that  Ivo's  iron  yoke  was  lifted  from  them 
at  last.  But  Beltane  kept  ever  to  the  woods  and  by-ways, 
lest,  being  recognised,  he  should  be  stayed  longer  from  her 
of  whom  he  dreamed,  bethinking  him  ever  of  the  deep,  shy 
passion  of  her  eyes,  the  soft  tones  of  her  voice,  the  cling- 
ing warmth  of  her  caress,  and  all  the  sweet,  warm  beauty 
of  her.  Betimes  they  crossed  the  marches  into  Mortain, 
but  it  was  late  evening  ere  they  saw  at  last  the  sleepy 
manor  of  Blaen,  its  white  walls  and  steepy  roofs  domi- 
nated by  its  one  square  watch-tower,  above  which  a  stand- 
ard, stirring  lazily  in  the  gentle  air,  discovered  the  red 
lion  of  Pentavalon. 

And  now  Beltane's  breath  grew  short  and  thick,  his 
strong  hand  trembled  on  the  bridle,  and  he  grew  alternate 
hot  and  cold.  So  rode  they  into  the  echoing  courtyard 
whither  hasted  old  Godric  to  welcome  them,  and  divers 
servants  to  take  their  horses.  Being  ushered  forthwith 
into  the  garden,  now  who  so  silent  and  awkward  as  my 
Beltane,  what  time  his  lady  Duchess  made  known  to  him 
her  gentle  ladies,  among  whom  sweet  Genevra,  flushed  of 
cheek,  gazed  breathless  upon  Giles  even  as  Giles  gazed 
upon  her  —  who  so  mumchance  as  Beltane,  I  say,  who 
saw  and  heard  and  was  conscious  only  of  one  among  them 
all.  And  who  so  stately,  so  calm-voiced  and  dignified  as 
this  one  until  —  aye,  until  they  stood  alone  together,  and 
then  — 

To  see  her  sway  to  his  fierce  arms,  all  clinging,  yearning 
womanhood,  her  state  and  dignity  forgotten  quite !  To 
hear  her  voice  soft  and  low  and  all  a-thrill  with  love, 
broken  with  sighs  and  sinking  to  passionate-whispered 
questioning : 


570  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  And  thou  art  come  back  to  me  at  last,  Beltane !  Hast 
brought  to  me  my  heart  unharmed  from  the  battle,  be- 
loved !  And  thou  didst  take  no  hurt  —  no  hurt,  my  Bel- 
tane? And  art  glad  to  see  —  thy  —  wife,  Beltane?  And 
dost  love  me  —  as  much  as  ever.  Beltane?  O  wilt  never, 
never  leave  me  desolate  again,  my  lord  —  art  thou  mine  — 
mine  henceforth  as  I  am  thine.  Beltane?  And  wilt  desire 
me  ever  near  thee,  my  lord?  " 

"  Helen,"  said  he,  "  O  my  '  Helen  the  Beautiful ' —  our 
wars  be  ended,  our  time  of  waiting  is  done,  I  thank  God ! 
So  am  I  here  to  claim  thee,  beloved.  Art  glad  to  be  in 
mine  arms  —  glad  I  am  come  to  —  make  thee  mine  own 
at  last,  Helen?" 

"  I  had  died  without  thee.  Beltane  —  I  would  not  live 
without  thee  now,  my  Beltane.  See,  my  lord,  I  —  O  how 
may  I  speak  if  thus  you  seal  my  lips.  Beltane?  And 
prithee  how  may  I  show  thee  this  gown  I  wear  for  thee 
if  thou  wilt  hold  me  so  —  so  very  close.  Beltane?  " 

And  in  a  while  as  the  moon  rose  she  brought  him  into 
that  bower  he  weU  remembered  and  bade  him  admire  the 
beauty  of  her  many  flowers,  and  he,  viewing  her  loveliness 
alway,  praised  the  flowers  exceeding  much  yet  beheld  them 
not  at  all,  wherefore  she  chid  him,  and  yet  chiding,  yielded 
him  her  scarlet  mouth.  Thus  walked  they  in  the  fragrant 
garden  until  Genevra  found  them  and  sweet-voiced  bid 
them  in  to  sup.  But  the  Duchess  took  Genevra's  slender 
hands  and  looked  within  her  shy,  sweet  eyes. 

"  Art  happy,  sweet  maid?  "  she  questioned. 

"  O  dear  my  lady,  methinks  in  all  this  big  world  is  none 
more  happy  than  thy  grateful  Genevra." 

"  Then  haste  thee  back  to  thy  happiness,  dear  Genevra, 
to-morrow  we  will  see  thee  wed." 

And  presently  came  they  within  a  small  chamber  and 
here  Beltane  did  off  his  armour,  and  here  they  supped  to- 
gether, though  now  the  lady  Helen  spake  little  and  ate 
less,  and  oft  her  swift-flushing  cheek  rebuked  the  wor- 
shipping passion  of  his  eyes ;  insomuch  that  presently  she 


which  Speaketh  for  Itself     571 

arose  and  going  into  the  great  chamber  beyond,  came 
back,  and  kneeling  at  his  feet,  showed  him  a  file. 

"  Beltane,"  said  she,  "  thou  didst,  upon  a  time,  tell 
poor  Fidelis  wherefore  thy  shameful  fetters  yet  bound  thy 
wrists  —  so  now  will  thy  wife  loose  them  from  thee." 

Then,  while  Beltane,  speaking  not,  watched  her  down- 
bent  head  and  busy  hands,  she  filed  off  his  fetters  one  by 
one,  and  kissing  them,  set  them  aside. 

But  when  she  would  have  risen  he  prevented  her,  and 
w4th  reverent  fingers  touched  the  coiled  and  braided  glory 
of  her  hair. 

"  O  Helen,"  he  whispered,  "  loose  me  down  thy  hair." 

"  Nay,  dear  Beltane  — " 

"  My  hands  are  so  big  and  clumsy  — " 

"  Thy  hands  are  my  hands !  "  and  she  caught  and  kissed 
them. 

"  Let  down  for  me  thy  hair,  beloved,  I  pray  thee !  " 

"  Forsooth  my  lord  and  so  I  will  —  but  —  not  yet." 

"  But  the  —  the  hour  groweth  late,  Helen !  " 

"  Nay  —  indeed  — 'tis  early  yet,  my  lord  —  nay,  as 
thou  wilt,  my  Beltane,  only  suffer  that  I  —  I  leave  thee 
a  while,  I  pray." 

"  Must  I  bide  here  alone,  sweet  wife.''  " 

"  But  indeed  I  will  —  call  thee  anon,  my  lord." 

*'  Nay,  first  —  look  at  me,  my  Helen !  " 

Slowly,  slowly  she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  on  him 
all  sweet  and  languorous-eyed. 

"  Aye,  truly  —  truly  thine  eyes  are  not  —  a  nun's  eyes, 
Helen.  So  will  I  wait  thy  bidding."  So  he  loosed  her 
and  she,  looking  on  him  no  more,  turned  and  hasted  into 
the  further  chamber. 

And  after  some  while  she  called  to  him  very  soft  and 
sweet,  and  he,  trembling,  arose  and  entered  the  chamber, 
dim-lighted  and  fragrant. 

But  now,  beholding  wherefore  she  had  left  him,  his 
breath  caught  and  he  stood  as  one  entranced,  nor  moved, 
nor  spake  he  a  while. 


572  Beltane  the  Smith 

"  O  Helen ! "  he  murmured  at  last,  "  thou  art  glorious 
so  —  and  with  thy  long  hair  — " 

But  now,  even  as  he  came  to  her,  the  Duchess  Helen 
put  out  the  little  silver  lamp.  But  in  the  moonlit  dusk 
she  gave  her  lips  to  his,  and  her  tender  arms  were  close 
about  him. 

"  Beltane,"  she  whispered  'neath  his  kiss,  "  dear  my 
lord  and  husband,  here  is  an  end  at  last  of  sorrow  and 
heart-break,  I  pray." 

"  Here  —  my  Helen,  beginneth  —  the  fulness  of  life, 
methinks !  " 

Now  presently  upon  the  stillness,  from  the  court  below, 
stole  the  notes  of  a  lute  and  therewith  a  rich  voice  upraised 
in  singing: 

"  O  when  is  the  time  a  maid  to  kiss? 
Tell  me  this,  now  tell  me  this. 
'Tis  when  the  day  is  scarce  begun, 
'Tis  from  the  setting  of  the  sun. 
Is  time  for  kissing  ever  done, 
Tell  me  this,  now  tell  me  this." 


THE   END 


a.    ^vT;       I'ioL^}  L05       /-AN^GELE^ 


A  A      000  277  628    4 


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